Change Every Lock and Key
by crispydaae
Summary: Modern AU. Christine is a recent college graduate working at the opera house when she hears stories about the Phantom and finds herself wanting to know more despite the danger. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Christine Daaè would not be late. Even if her newly-obtained job as a bartender at the local Opera house was not exactly the most illustrious career offered at that establishment, she was more than grateful to have it, as it allowed her to almost, _almost_ be in the world which she loved most - the world of music, of theatre, of storytelling through song.

Moving through the hectic streets of Manhattan at the most brisk pace possible, she pondered how even on a bitterly cold November day the streets were still overflowing with people.

Truthfully, it was what she loved most about the city. The constant flood of people, the sound of heels on the pavement, chatter on phones, was a symphony of its own, and it filled the longing ache of loneliness inside her in a way that the quiet fields of her hometown never could.

Looking at her gold watch - fake, of course, she's a _bartender,_ not a primadonna - she noted the time and picked up her pace substantially, now sprinting through the holes in the crowd, her two-inch kitten heels now digging into the heels of her feet uncomfortably. She braved the dips in the pavement and the pain in her toes until the theatre was within sight. Slowing down and catching her breath, she unbuttoned her large coat and ran her hand down her ensemble nervously, sorting out any ruffles or wrinkles in the fabric, and walked in with as much confidence as a girl who knew virtually nothing about alcohol could.

She had gone out for the job on a whim - her best friend Meg Giry was a dancer in the productions and knew of Christine's love for opera. As Christine put out application after application for jobs in her field - journalism with a focus in arts and culture, hopefully writing on the theatre or music beat - Meg encouraged her to take on a smaller job while she moves through the interview process at various publications. She hesitantly accepted, knowing that while she would much rather spend her time networking or doing freelance work to make a name for herself, she could not impose on Meg and her mother any longer by living rent-free in their apartment.

When Christine's father passed away during her senior year of high school, Madame Giry promised Christine that she would never be without a home. Christine and Meg attended the same university in New York City as planned after high school, and stayed in an apartment with Madame Giry during the summer each year. When they both graduated without jobs that would provide enough income to rent an apartment for their own, they continued to share a room in Madame Giry's two bedroom flat in Soho. Both Christine and Meg swore they would find a place of their own as soon as they could, although Madame Giry assured them both they should not rush themselves in finding employment and should stay with her as long as it takes to find the job they are happiest with.

Meg could not imagine having a better mother, and Christine wondered how she got so lucky as to be unofficially adopted by Madame Giry.

With Meg's salary as a dancer, she had resolved to cover the cost of groceries and other necessary supplies for living, and Christine was hoping the bartending would aid her in paying some amount of rent to Madame Giry; as much as she could manage while also paying off student loans. Both Meg and Christine managed to go through college mostly via scholarships, but they did not come out completely debt free. They knew this was the price they had to pay for going to such a renowned school.

Known primarily for its theatre, music and arts programs, Christine attended the school for journalism, knowing that singing was far too competitive a career to take a chance on when her voice was, in her opinion, subpar. Though Meg assured her if she put in enough work, her voice could likely be good, Christine doubted it would ever be _good enough_ to set her apart from other candidates, and she would find herself waitressing for the rest of her career in New York City.

Instead, she found herself bartending with a degree in journalism. She had hoped to find her way into the world of music through writing - it was another one of her talents, along with her keen observation skills, and she knew that she could find a place in that world if she were an arts and culture reporter or even a theatre critic. However, the business was still small, and she knew it would take time to find a suitable job, so here she was, walking towards the bar of the Opera house, unable to identify a single bottle on the rack behind it.

Halfway through her shift, as she was practicing yet another popular drink with the watchful eyes of her manager behind her, a young man approached the bar. Her manager encouraged her to give taking an order a try, and she walked to the front of the bar, awaiting the man's order. He looked up from his phone, and her eyes were met with familiar blue ones, a gentle twinkle in them that she'd almost forgotten completely.

Raoul de Chagny. Business major, class of 2016, and one of the kindest men she'd ever known. She blushed, realizing that he was likely a patron of the Opera now and she was simply making drinks for the likes of him, but she refused to allow herself to sink deeper into her shame. She worked hard throughout college and if this is where she must begin to progress further into her career, that is simply how it must be.

The sound of his voice, low but gentle, almost like a purr, snapped her out of her contemplation. _"Little Lotte,"_ he grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. "I haven't seen you since you spun that tale drunk at Michael's party - the story of Little Lotte and the Angel of Music, remember?" he teased, and she smiled, knowing his humor was never ill intended.

"Yes, and your lovely friends called me 'Little Lotte' for the rest of my days at our university. Should I thank you for that?" she quipped, though her smile betrayed her. She nearly felt like jumping over the counter to hug him. Instead, he placed his hands on top of hers - a friendly gesture that was not uncommon with him, a knowing touch that caused everyone who received it to feel acknowledged and cared for. Kindness was his superpower, really, and she felt immediate warmth in her chest at the contact.

"How have you been, Christine? I am so sorry I couldn't attend you and Meg's graduation party, I had business in Japan," he asked.

"Business in Japan, did you? Ever the entrepreneur - one year out of college and you're flying overseas for business! You truly are a wonder, Raoul," Christine replied, averting the subject of how she had been. She did not know how to reply when really, graduating and no longer having assignments and articles and projects to distract her permitted her far too much time to think, and the grief of her father had caught up to her all over again. The summer after graduation was spent mourning a death that occured four years before that.

He did not seem to notice her changing the subject, and they chatted pleasantly for a few moments before Christine was interrupted by her manager, no doubt prompting her to resume her work. She looked at Raoul apologetically, and he simply waved a hand.

"You get back to work, Little Lotte, I'm sure I'll see you around," he winked. She giggled at that, much like a young school girl, and she would've mentally chastised herself for it if he had not put his hand on hers once more, placing a business card in her hand. "In case you lost my number," he explained. "We really should catch up sometime," he smiled one last time before squeezing her hand and walking away.

She watched him for a few moments, feeling as though she was witnessing the very embodiment of the happiness she once felt drifting away - she remembered the fun she used to have with friends, the smiles she exchanged and the laughter she shared before all the things she bottled up so many years ago caught up with her.

She had different bottles to tackle tonight, though, and she resumed working, hoping it would help her push these feelings down the way that studying always did. 

**A/N:** Hello, my wonderful friends (and also, I suppose readers that don't know me!) This is my first proper multi-chapter fic and I'm honestly pretty proud of it so far, but I'm also more nervous than I've ever been about anything I've ever written in my life. (And I'm a journalism major. So I've written a lot. Also, yes, Christine is a journalism major in this fic too, but I SWEAR that's not entirely due to my desire to self insert...it's mainly me following the "write what you know" philosophy. And I know nothing about studying music in college, so yeah.) Anyway, I'm rambling right now because I'm really nervous, but yeah. I think this is more developed and detailed and layered than anything else I've ever written in my life, so I'm proud of it. But I'm also terrified. So...please do let me know what you think! I hope you're having a wonderful Tuesday, and thank you for reading this :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Training went as smoothly as Christine felt it could. She memorized the most popular cocktails and mixes and learned the standard protocol for sanitary measures. At the end of her shift, she was given a list with her nightly chores, and she knew she had spent so much time practicing mixing drinks that she would never finish them by the end of her shift. She hoped they would grant her overtime pay, but without the clocking in and out system found in most food and drink establishments, she was doubtful.

As she wiped down the counter, she sang bits of an aria she had overheard earlier, not knowing the words and simply vocalizing as quietly as she could. She was sure no one was left in the opera house as the opera had ended at least two hours ago, but she could not help but feel self-conscious.

The longer she sang, though, the more she forget herself and her volume increased. She transitioned into another song halfway through, one she knew the words to, and by the end, she was singing at full strength. As she sang the last line, she noticed a flash of a black suit in the corner of her eye, and she stopped abruptly, the last note ringing out in a squeak.

"Please, do not stop on my account," a voice spoke, and she turned around to see a tall man not quite facing her, only the left side of his body exposed to her.

"I am so sorry, sir, I thought no one was here - " she stammered, and he peered at her out of the corner of his eye, his position unmoving.

"Did I not just tell you that you should not stop on my account?" He snapped, and she wondered if it was in jest. His tone seemed too curt to be humorous.

"I...right, I'm sorry." She replied, her head hanging low in embarrassment.  
He groaned. "How many times a day do you apologize?" he mused, now facing her, as if her acquiescence was what finally captured his full attention. Her confusion increased when she noticed the white mask that covered half his face. She studied the rest of his body, now aligned with hers; he was overwhelmingly tall and dressed impeccably well in a black jacket and pants that emphasized the length of his body. His hair was dark brown and slicked back, and his eyes were such a deep amber, they were almost golden.

She stuttered once again, and he angled his face so that she could not see the mask.

"Ah, yes. I suppose you've never seen a man casually walking about in a theatrical mask. I wear it out of necessity, I assure you, not solely because I have a penchant for the dramatic."

"Right, of course, I didn't - I didn't mean to stare, sir, I am - " 

"Sorry?" 

Her mouth opened and closed several times, unsure of what to say. _Who was this man?_  
He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his feet. "Your voice was...quite adequate, I must admit." 

Adequate? Was she supposed to take that as a compliment? "Thank you - " she began before he quickly cut her off. "You need practice, though, and a proper instructor. I would be inclined to help you, if you so wish it." 

Help her? Help her _sing?_ "Do you mean...you'd give me lessons?" She asked, confused as to why a stranger would offer her such a service when the rag dipped in cleaning solution that she held should have indicated she likely did not have the means to pay for them. 

"Indeed. I would not charge you - not now, at least. My sole payment will be shaping a new talent in desperate need of a teacher." 

_Desperate need?_ She wondered again how he could be so simultaneously generous and insulting. "I...I simply don't understand, sir. You heard a few notes from me - " 

"A few notes is all a true teacher needs to hear." 

"Can I think about it, please? This is a lot to take in at once," she breathed shakily, attempting to laugh to lighten the mood but finding she only sounded more nervous. 

"Very well," he replied, placing a slip of paper down onto the bar. "Email me when you have made your decision...what is your name, dear?" 

"Christine. Christine Daaé," she replied. 

Something about the name caused his amber eyes to glow, as if he was envisioning it in lights.

He must be insane.

 _"Christine Daa_ _é_ _,"_ he tested the name aloud, his rich tenor making her name sound more elegant than it ever had, even when placed on fancy stationary or read by an announcer at an awards banquet. "I hope we will see each other again, _Christine Daa_ _é_ _,"_ he spoke before turning around and exiting the lobby of the opera house.

She stared down at the paper, the screen name he had written in messy script confusing her even more at its lack of professionalism, causing her to wonder just what kind of teacher he was:

 _ **operaghost**_

 **A/N:** Please feel free to laugh at the email address. At first, it was just until I could think of something better, but then I decided to keep it just to emphasize to Christine how freaking weird Erik is. I mean, can you imagine meeting some guy in a mask and that's the email address he gives you? Erik is a weirdo, but he's our favorite weirdo :) hope you guys liked this chapter! Also, HUGE thank you to a-partofthenarrative on Tumblr for editing this. She'll be helping me throughout the entire ride, and I am so SO grateful!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three** _ **  
**_

 _ ****_Several shifts at the opera house's bar passed before the weekend finally arrived. For most, this meant time off. For Christine, it meant a higher number of customers and better opportunity for tips. She ensured her hair was particularly neat before leaving Madame Giry's apartment Friday afternoon, inserting a few bobby pins and even spraying a bit of hairspray over her thick brown tresses, hoping that the curls wouldn't turn into frizz later on as they normally would.

Christine made it through the majority of her shift without any problems. The customers were pleasant for the most part; some of them were stuffy but overall not rude or impatient. When intermission ended and the crowds of people began trickling back into the theatre, Christine noticed her manager in his office with his head flat on his desk, likely asleep or at the very least too tired to notice her absence. She knew it was far too early in her employment to be misbehaving in any way, but she couldn't help herself - she was _inside an opera house every night_ and had yet to see a performance. Peeking through one of the many doors to the auditorium, she watched the leading soprano take the stage for the beginning of act two, her voice swelling in an exuberant aria.

Christine had tears in her eyes at the sound of the soprano's voice filling the theatre. She could not help but imagine herself up there, as silly and unimposing as she would look, so small and fragile with such a frail voice, no one would ever hear her. Or would they? Perhaps she did not have to imagine or dream. Perhaps there was a chance that her voice could be stronger, _she_ could be stronger…

She had not allowed herself to hope in the past. She had to be practical, and pursuing a singing career when she was not the strongest singer simply wasn't practical. Sure, she had passion and drive, but she had minimal talent. She knew she had other strengths that would have to suffice...but she remembered the strange man from several nights before. The slip of paper with his peculiar email address remained in the pocket of her apron, tucked right next to Raoul's business card. She pulled it out, staring at it as though she was looking for answers within that odd moniker - what does _"opera ghost"_ even mean? After contemplating the strange man's offer for several more moments, she returned to the bar, her decision made. When she returned to Madame Giry's apartment, she would email the man and express interest, but not without voicing her concerns.

At the end of her shift, she did just that, not even waiting to reach Madame Giry's apartment before composing the email on her phone:

 _ **Dear sir,**_

 _ **My name is Christine Daa**_ _ **é**_ _ **, we spoke several days ago at the opera house. I have thought about your offer, and I am interested, but I am slightly apprehensive as well. I do not think of myself as particularly talented at singing; I can hold a note, but there is nothing spectacular about me. I spend most of my time working and the rest of my time, I would prefer to be spending searching for more secure employment, so if I am to accept your offer and sacrifice time for your lessons, I must know that I have your full confidence. Do you truly, wholeheartedly believe I am capable of success in this career?**_

 _ **Thank you,**_

 _ **Christine Daa**_ _ **é**_

She received a reply before she even walked through the door of the apartment. She sat down on her twin bed, opening up her laptop.

 _ **Dear Christine,**_

 _ **I understand your concerns, but I assure you that no time spent under my instruction will ever be time wasted. If you will allow me to teach you, I am completely confident that your voice will soar beyond anything you have ever imagined. You will be a star, Christine Daae. I would not offer free lessons if I did not think you were a valuable investment.**_

 _ **Erik**_

She tried not to feel uneasy at the oddness of the entire situation; he did not even give a last name in his signature. She began to wonder if he was some sort of creep or stalker. Why else would he hide his own name and offer a young girl _free_ singing lessons? She accepted this as a possibility, but she also knew he could not be simply walking about the opera house in a mask if he did not possess some degree of notoriety. There was an air of refinement about him that led her to believe that he was, at least, a somewhat composed individual. It wasn't because of the amount of money his impressive ensemble likely costs, but rather that way he presented himself.

For once in her life, Christine wondered if she should take a leap of faith. She had never been the type to make decisions against her better judgement; everything she had done was carefully calculated, but her own father had once encouraged her to be more impulsive, more adventurous. Would he encourage her to accept this offer from an odd, potentially dangerous man, for the sake of following her dreams? She knew she would likely never know the answer, but perhaps, for once in her life, she could be content with not knowing. Perhaps, for once in her life, she could jump in blindly with no information.

 _ **Erik,**_

 _ **Thank you for your reply. I have decided to accept your offer. When will we begin?**_

 _ **Christine**_

She did not bother adding her last name at the end again when he hadn't done so himself. A part of her almost regretted previously giving him such valuable knowledge; her name was unique and a quick Google search could provide him with much more information than she was comfortable with him having. She tried not to let her anxious thoughts take over as she awaited his reply, which arrived after no more than five minutes:

 _ **Dear Christine,**_

 _ **We will begin before your shift on Monday. Come to the front of the Opera house at noon. I will take you to an unoccupied rehearsal room.**_

 _ **Erik**_

The finality of her decision hit her like a ton of bricks. She had done it. She had made a decision she knew was foolish, or at least, every fiber of her being screamed it was. Yet she could not help but feel butterflies in her stomach at the thought of improving her voice, and perhaps someday finding herself on that stage at the opera house. As she slept, she dreamt of the Angel of Music bringing Erik to her; this odd man that somehow would conspire with her Angel to help her find her way in this world of music that she had always denied herself for the sake of something more practical. In her sleep, she escaped entirely, no longer hearing thoughts of logic and reason. She only heard the sound of her father's violin and a new, unfamiliar tenor singing somewhere in the darkness.

 **A/N:** So sorry for the slightly late update - I know I said Tuesday evenings, but I just moved into my new apartment and the wifi was being tricky. This fic will now be doing Tuesday/Thursday updates, since I realized that there's no way I'll be able to finish publishing it by the end of the summer if I don't update it at least twice a week.

Please do review, it'll motivate me to continue writing though this madness! Thank you SO much to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed/talked to me about this. Lots of love to you all :)

also, another huge thank you to my beta a-partofthenarrative ! your help is invaluable and I don't know what I'd do without you. also, I can't wait to read the one shot you just posted :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Christine stood outside the opera house at quarter to noon, trying not to shiver in the cold. It was only early November but the temperature had dropped significantly, and there was a chill in the wind that moved through her entire body. She knew she would likely have to wait fifteen minutes for Erik to let her inside, but she had a habit of always arriving early and did not intend to change it. It was likely the most healthy, beneficial habit she had - except for in this situation particularly, where even her thick coat was hardly enough to keep her warm.

After five minutes, she saw a man in a mask emerging from the opera house and she breathed a sigh of relief. He guided her inside without a word, down a few hallways and into an empty room which held nothing more than a piano and a chalkboard.

"We will begin with a few scales, then I will have you sing a few songs you are familiar with. Our first few lessons will simply be about getting to know your voice and shaping your repertoire before we begin to improve it," Erik explained, not looking at her as he sat down at the piano. She nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly, excited to sing for him. If he thought she was good when she wasn't even trying at the bar that night, perhaps today he would think she was excellent. He would certainly be the first.

Instead, she was met with disappointment. She had barely begun her scales before he was already critiquing her posture.

"I thought you said today was not about perfecting things?" She asked, slightly annoyed at his criticism.

"I cannot possibly hear your voice in its true nature, _mademoiselle,_ if it does not travel through your chest and throat correctly," he replied curtly.

She took note of how odd it was that he called her "mademoiselle" when he did not appear to be French - was he? He had no accent, but she supposed he could have simply could have had an excellent English tutor.

Her lesson proceeded with more questions developing in her mind about Erik than about the subject matter of singing techniques. Who was he? Why did he wear the mask? Where did he learn so much about music? She wanted to ask him, but she sensed that he would not have the patience to endure her endless curiosity. He hardly had the patience to make it through the lesson, and she tried her best not to let his gruffness affect her. She already had so little confidence; she refused to let a man that was supposed to teach her to be better make her feel as though she was terrible to begin with.

When Christine had clearly had enough - her voice now lacking emotion and her notes faltering sloppily - Erik dismissed her with no more than a simple wave of his hand. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach that indicated that his harshness had hurt her once again. She exited the opera house swiftly, wondering if she should even return for her shift in thirty minutes.

A cup of tea at a cafe a block away soothed her enough to dismiss any thoughts of going home and moping. She was sick of tears, sick of sleeping, and sick of feeling sorry for herself. She would simply endure Erik's rudeness as long as she had to in order to receive the results he had promised. Somehow, despite how beaten down she felt after the lesson, she could notice that there _was_ an improvement in her vocal technique. The sound escaped her more clearly, and she already had better pitch, simply from the way he had instructed her to stand, breath, and move her mouth.

However, he had indubitably damaged her spirit, and by the end of the lesson, she didn't want to sing for the first time in her life. For once, she wanted to be silent.

A few quiet moments in the cafe, save for murmured conversation and the clattering of dishes, coaxed her out of her sour mood, and when she finished her tea, she was able to return to the opera house with the same motivation she had the evening before.

Her shifts were now running much more smoothly, her mind was already beginning to grow accustomed to the computer system for ringing up drinks and her hands no longer shook when she poured champagne. She still hadn't quite memorized all of the most popular cocktails, but she had no doubt she would have it down by the end of the month. Now that all of her duties required less mental effort, she was able to listen to the conversations around her as she prepared drinks.

She noticed a theme throughout the night; whispers from managers and patrons about some sort of scandal: a member of the stage crew was frequently accused of taking advantage of members of the ballet corps, and after a formal complaint was finally filed by one brave dancer, he had failed to show up for that evening's show. His name was only spoken in a hushed whisper - Buquet, it sounded like - and conversation would quickly cease when another person walked by.

This was the only topic of conversation throughout the night that piqued Christine's interest. Everything else was useless gossip about couples in the cast or the horrid dress that the leading soprano wore to a recent gala. Christine found herself wishing she was not an employee, but a spectator so she could properly investigate the Buquet situation - perhaps even gather quotes and write an exposé. Her journalistic background constantly inspired her to seek the truth and report it, as the motto goes, and she couldn't help but want to discover more about the story.

During intermission, however, investigation was no longer required. When the show was cancelled halfway through and news spread that Buquet was found hanging in a storage area behind the stage, the managers, patrons and even the guests were no longer keeping quiet. Half of the crowd immediately hurried out of the opera house while the other half remained glued to the ground, loudly chattering until the police arrived and demanded they leave.

Despite the literal crime scene occurring somewhere within the building, Christine had to finish her shift, her nightly chores still incomplete. She was wiping down the bar when she saw Madame Giry rush past her. She so rarely saw her in the lobby of the opera house; as ballet mistress she was always backstage with the dancers. There was something about her facial expression that alarmed Christine. It was akin to the one she had whenever she hurried across the apartment to scold Meg for something, but a thousand times stronger. She turned a corner and went through a hallway seeming so resolute, so determined, as if she were hunting someone down.

Glancing over her shoulder and not finding her manager anywhere in sight, Christine elected to follow Madame Giry.

It took her some time to catch up, but she finally found her in a darkened corner of the hallway, speaking under her breath quietly, but passionately. An unfamiliar male voice replied with a hint of an accent - Middle Eastern, maybe? She could hardly make out what they were saying, but their whispers came out like hisses. It was clear that they were both angry, but not at each other...rather, it sounded as though they were both expressing mutual disdain for someone or something, and rather vehemently, at that.

Christine had just begun to pick up a few words from their conversation when Madame Giry abruptly stopped speaking and peered around the corner to find Christine leaning against the wall. Christine attempted to look casual, slumping against it, but her abrupt movement only further exposed her guilt. 

" _Hey, Madame,"_ she grinned awkwardly, waving her hand. 

The man that was speaking now approached her, and she recognized him from several nights before - he had moved quickly throughout the opera house, not speaking to anyone in the crowd during intermission. 

"How much did you hear? He demanded, stepping far too close to her, and Christine cowered slightly, flinching.

Madame Giry simply raised her hand, glaring at the man. "Monsieur Khan, Christine is family to me. If she heard too much, I trust her not to share the information with anyone. Right, Christine?" She asked, though Christine could tell it was not a question. 

"I couldn't tell what you were saying, honestly. I was just curious, you seemed so...so _livid_ when I saw you walking through the lobby, like you were about to _smack someone in the head_ \- " 

The man - Mr. Khan, as Madame Giry had indicated - helplessly let out a snort, but Madame Giry's stern expression did not falter. 

"If you heard anything, Christine, anything at all, I demand that you never speak of it or even ask about it, understand? It is for your own good," Madame Giry instructed, her tone sounding more concerned at the end, as though she was completely certain whatever conversation she was having with Mr. Khan could somehow hurt Christine.

This baffled Christine, as she knew that whatever they were speaking of had nothing to do with her or Meg. Mr. Khan was clearly not involved in the ballet or even a member of the stage crew, and Christine had obviously never met him before. How could this information negatively affect her? Still, she nodded her head, not wanting to disrespect the only maternal figure she'd had in her life.

Madame Giry clearly did not know Christine as well as she thought she did if she believed that telling Christine _not_ to investigate something would only cause her to investigate it to the fullest extent. When Christine returned home that night, she asked Meg if she knew what Madame Giry might have been talking about. 

"Gosh, I don't know," Meg whispered, dumbfounded. "I don't even know who that man is! Do you think he's a secret boyfriend?" 

Christine tried not to roll her eyes. "Madame would never hide that from you, Meg. Hiding something means you are ashamed, and 'shame' is not in your mother's vocabulary. She's the most confident woman I know."

Meg smiled. "Maman says the women from her town are raised to be unapologetic and strong. I wish I'd picked up more of that before we left France when I was a kid." A distant look was in Meg's pale eyes as she smiled fondly at a picture frame on her bedside table of herself and Madame at the Palais Garnier in Paris. A few moments passed before Meg seemed to resurface from her reminiscence, remembering the present situation."Were you able to make out words? Anything at all?" 

"Only one, I'm sure I must've misheard it. No one says this word in this century, not unless it's Halloween…" 

Meg's eyes widened. "Was it… _Phantom?_ "

Christine immediately looked up at her. "Yes! What does it mean?" She asked, her hands blindly searching for a notebook in case she needed to write something down.

"Well, it's truly weird that Maman would be talking about it...it's just a scary story that's circulated around the opera house for years, really. Buquet himself often told it to scare the dancers, actually. Maybe it had something to do with Buquet's death tonight?" Meg wondered. 

"What would a story Buquet told to scare young girls have to do with his death?" Christine asked. 

"It's really silly, but...a lot of the dancers wondered if the Phantom killed him." 

"The Phantom?" Christine snorted. "Your dancers truly believe in a ghost story?" 

"It's not a ghost story, though! Well, it started out that way when Buquet told it, but eventually it spread around the cast and the story changed. Now, people believe the Phantom is a man living somewhere in the opera house...apparently in the attic? He commands the managers to do his bidding, which often entails rearranging the cast, disposing of set pieces he doesn't like...he does all of this by threatening them somehow. They're so afraid of him, they pay him ten thousand dollars a month. That, along with following his orders, is what keeps him from creating disasters." 

"Disasters?" Christine sputtered, trying to keep her laughter in.  
Meg nodded her head frantically, willing Christine to understand the graveness of the story she told. 

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Meg..." Christine began. 

"And…?" Meg prompted, knowing exactly what response would follow. 

"And I want to get to the bottom of it," Christine smiled.

And so the investigation began.

 **A/N:** Finally, some action! This is where the story starts picking up...chapter five will be a bit shorter, but thankfully once that is posted, you'll only have to wait 48 hours for chapter six ;) THAT chapter is a doozy. I can't wait for you guys to read it. Thank you SO much for all the amazing reviews on the last chapter, I was shocked to get so much love for what I felt was such a short filler chapter! You guys are incredible. I can't even begin to express my gratitude. Sending you all lots of love and good vibes xoxo

P.S. a huge thank you to my editor a-partofthenarrative for the amazing work on this chapter! I know this one was super long and FILLED with my common errors (using a hyphen when it's not grammatically appropriate is my middle name), you're so kind to help me out :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The moment Christine's eyes met Mr. Khan's Friday morning, he scurried off, as if he were running from the impending storm of questions Christine intended to ask. She followed the shorter man, catching up to him before he stepped into an office and slammed the door shut. 

"Mr. Khan? It's Christine from the other night. Please, may I speak to you? I have a few questions." Christine asked politely, knocking on the door as gently as she could. 

"I thought Madame Giry told you not to ask questions," he replied simply, his voice not seemingly annoyed, but lacking gentility nonetheless. 

Christine turned her chin up defiantly. "Madame Giry is not the boss of me." 

She heard Mr. Khan sigh heavily before opening the door. "What do you want to know?" He asked in a monotone voice that indicated his exhaustion. Underneath his green eyes were deep circles, and his eyebrows furrowed in clear frustration. 

"I heard Madame Giry mention the Phantom to you. What were two adults doing discussing a _ghost story?_ " 

"It is not simply a _ghost story,_ Ms. Daae. It is a treacherous story that you would be better off not knowing," he clipped before stepping back, an anxious look in his eyes, as if he had just realized he had said too much. 

"Well, I cannot possibly understand why it is so dangerous if you will not explain it, Mr. Khan. In fact, perhaps my ignorance will cause me to go and ask anyone about it - perhaps _everyone!_ If I cannot get information from you, I will find it elsewhere. I assume, though, that you do not want this being discussed by anyone in the Opera house?" Christine pushed, and she felt guilty for making a threat, especially considering that she hardly intended to act on it. 

Mr. Khan was silent for a few moments before finally opening the door fully. "Come in. We have much to discuss. My name is Nadir, by the way," he said, offering out his hand. She gave it a firm shake before sitting down in a chair opposite to his, and waited for him to explain the ridiculous story to her.

"The Phantom does exist, though he is hardly a Phantom or supernatural being, as I am sure you can infer," Nadir began. "He is simply a man in a sort of...predatory business partnership with the managers. They grant him funds in exchange for his... _cooperation._ " 

"If he misbehaves so frequently, why can't they just report him to the police? Have him removed from the premises?" Christine asked. 

"Well, Ms. Daae, that would be quite difficult, considering he owns the opera house." 

Suddenly, everything clicked into place in Christine's mind. They could not kick him out, not when it was his property. Hell, he could burn it to the ground if he decided to, and there was not a thing they could do. She wondered if that was what Meg meant by a _disaster,_ as dramatic as it seemed. 

"How did such a volatile man acquire this property?" Christine questioned. 

"He built it. This opera house is new, you know - it was only built fifteen years ago. He was an emerging architect, known for how young, but undoubtedly talented he was. He had an interest in music, opera specifically, so he was commissioned to design the opera house. After it was built, he was far too proud of it to let it go into someone else's hands, so he used all of his funds from previous commissions to purchase it for himself and hire the necessary employees to build an opera cast." 

Christine could not help but be amazed. This man sounded terrible...insane, of course - but he also sounded like a genius. 

"What sort of disasters will ensue if the managers do not obey him?" Christine asked carefully. 

Nadir sighed, looking at the ground. He was silent for a few moments, as though he was choosing his words very carefully. "Disasters such as what occured last night, I suppose." 

Christine was taken aback. "So Buquet _was_ murdered?" 

"It's hard to say. He was an awful man...he hurt many women, and the Phantom hears and sees all, so I am sure he was disgusted by this. The managers also happened to disobey him yesterday when recasting Carlotta as lead soprano for our next production, so if he did kill Buquet, he probably rationalized it in his mind as killing a predator _and_ exerting his power as the Phantom. Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak...or one bird. _Probably a vulture,_ " Nadir rambled nervously, mumbling at the end. 

"If you suspect he could have killed Buquet, why will you not tell the police?" 

"I _am_ the police, Ms. Daae, and I think you have asked enough questions," Nadir replied before standing and opening the door once again. Christine respected his clear request for her to leave, knowing she had pushed him quite far. She certainly obtained more information than she had ever expected to. She shook his hand once more, opening her mouth to thank him, but his grip tightened. "Be careful, Ms. Daae," he whispered, his emerald eyes piercing her. She gulped nervously before smiling and letting go of his hand, exiting the office somehow more confused than when she entered it.

Christine's lesson with Erik proceeded routinely, though he could sense her distraction throughout them. When she completely missed her cue on the piano, he slammed down on the keys in frustration. 

"Perhaps, _mademoiselle,_ a walk about the opera house would suit you. You _clearly_ have more important things to ponder than your singing," he sneered. 

She wanted to argue simply for the sake of asserting herself, but she knew he was right, and she excused herself, opening the door to exit the room. Across the hall, she saw Nadir once again and waved.

Nadir looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

Christine furrowed her brows in confusion, looking behind her to see if Erik was doing anything strange to warrant Nadir's reaction. He was simply adjusting the music sheets on the piano, though, and she turned back to Nadir to see him motioning for her to come forward. She existed the rehearsal room, shutting the door behind her, and Nadir grabbed her wrist, pulling her through the hallway into a corner. 

"What on Earth are you doing with Erik?" Nadir asked. 

"He is my teacher," Christine answered simply. "He's rude, sure, but he knows a lot about music, and he offered to help me for free." 

Nadir grew even more exasperated at this. "For - for free?" He stuttered. 

Christine nodded, not seeing why this should concern Nadir so greatly. 

"Erik has never done anything in his life for _free,_ Ms. Daae. I suggest you cease these lessons at once, perhaps even find employment elsewhere, far away from this opera house - " 

"I'm sorry, _what?_ " Christine laughed. "Nadir, you sound crazy. I know he's a bit of a pompous jerk, but he's just a man." 

"He is a _dangerous_ man, Christine. I beg you. Stop this now, while you still can. Say that your heart isn't in it, or you don't think you're talented enough - " 

Christine gave him a puzzled look, tilting her head at him. She looked into his eyes and saw the same expression she'd seen the night before. 

Dangerous...Erik is dangerous. Dangerous...like the Phantom.

" _Oh my god,"_ Christine breathed. 

Nadir grabbed her wrist again. "Do you understand now, Ms. Daae?" 

Christine slowly nodded, feeling numb. She could barely move as Nadir placed a hand on her shoulder. "It will be alright, Ms. Daae...so long as you leave _now._ "

Christine broke out of her stupor, the realization that she had obtained enough information for the biggest story in the city knocking the breath out of her. "I'm not going anywhere, Nadir," she simply stated, her voice sounding as though she was in a trance.

She turned around, returning to the rehearsal room, ignoring Nadir whispering her name desperately.

When she opened the door to the rehearsal room, Erik had barely moved an inch, still seated at the piano, not even looking at her as she walked over to him. "Are you more focused now, mademoiselle?" He asked.

 _"Oh, yes,"_ she replied, and her enthusiasm confused him. Had she run off to have a swig of vodka at the bar? The wild excitement in her eyes concerned him slightly, though he did not show it, simply clearing his throat.

"I am glad to hear that. Shall we begin?"

"Actually, I heard a funny story while I was walking around," Christine approached carefully. She had no idea what had gotten into her. She discarded logic to the wind, now entering treacherous territory, and only feeling excitement at the thought of the danger of this journey. "Have you ever heard of the Phantom?"

Erik's eyes darkened, and he rapidly turned to face her. "What makes you ask that?"

"Oh, I just heard this weird rumor that he killed Buquet, but that's dumb, right? There's no such thing as phantoms." Christine answered, twirling one of her curls around her fingers. He nearly stuttered at the sight and mentally cursed himself for it.

"Indeed," he croaked, returning to the piano. The nervousness that Christine had caused in him, through not only her questions, but her unintentionally alluring habits - the twirling of her hair, the nervous biting of her lip - betrayed him. She took the nervousness as guilt, and Erik wondered what the hell he was supposed to do.

She had figured it out, hadn't she?

Regardless, no matter what she knew, she couldn't prove it, and he felt slightly breathless at the realization that even if she could... _he would not hurt her._

He would sooner let her expose him than hurt her. _What had she done to him?_

By the end of her lesson with Erik, Christine had formed a plan.

In order to gather the necessary information for this story, she would have to play the long game. She couldn't raise Erik's suspicions, but she needed proof of his crimes. She would have to move slowly, carefully, get him to reveal information piece by piece, perhaps over the course of weeks. Even months.

Her impatience flared, and she fruitlessly attempted to push away her more reckless ideas. When Erik departed from the rehearsal room Christine lost control of her newfound impulsivity and followed him, making sure she remained at least ten feet behind him, completely out of sight.

She had no idea what she was doing.

Perhaps his path would reveal the way to his home, wherever it was. It was rumored to be in the attic, but she found herself following him into a...dressing room?

She watched from a crack in the door as he walked to a full length mirror in the corner of the room. He looked over his shoulder once before lifting a portrait hanging next to the mirror and pressing his fingers to the wall underneath it. The mirror shifted in front of him, opening to reveal a passageway.

She waited at least a minute before following behind him, pressing her fingers to the wall in the same way and stepping through the mirror.

She followed the sound of his footsteps instead of following his figure, as his black clothes enshrouded him in the darkness of the cavern they were in. She was careful to walk as lightly as possible, thankful for the fact that she had worn sneakers that day. When she saw what looked like a lake ahead with a boat floating atop it, she knew she had reached a dead end.

How could she follow him through the water? She could swim, but he would hear the water splashing.

She was screwed. Oh, she was _so_ screwed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Erik stood at the edge of the lake as though he was waiting for something. Christine realized in that moment that he knew she was there.

Of course he did. She felt like such a fool.

He was waiting to see what she'd do, and she mentally deliberated her options. She could walk up to him and tap him on the back - that sure seemed like a great idea.

 _"Hi, Mr. Phantom, I know you're an extortionist and probably a murderer too, but could you please direct me back to the lobby of the opera house? I have work in ten minutes. Thanks!"_

Yes, that would go well.

It felt as though hours passed before he turned around, facing towards her. "You are a bit far from the bar, aren't you, Christine? Or were you bringing me a drink to express your gratitude for my generosity?" 

Christine's mouth was agape as she mentally searched for a response. Her eyes now traveled down the expanse of his body, seeing something falling out of his pocket - a rope? She accidentally gasped, realizing what she had just seen.

That was the rope that killed Buquet. The Phantom _did_ kill Buquet.

 _Erik_ killed Buquet.

He noticed her staring and strode towards her quickly. "I'm afraid you have seen too much, _mademoiselle._ Perhaps we should keep you from seeing more?" He shouted, placing some sort of cloth around her eyes and sweeping her up into his arms. 

"What are you doing?" She screamed. _"Let me go!"_ She struggled in his arms, but it was useless; he was at least a foot taller than her, and likely stronger as well. He seemed to retrieve something from his pocket - a small vial of some sort - before she felt a prick in her neck and slipped into darkness.

When Christine awoke, she immediately noticed a change in environment, though her vision was still blocked by the blindfold. The cool air she felt was a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the caverns she last remembered being conscious in. For a moment, she contemplated shutting her eyes and slipping back into sleep, pretending that Erik had never stolen her away to wherever she was now to commit whatever horrors she was sure awaited her. If she did not raise the blindfold, did not even remain conscious, then she did not have to know any of it was real. The silkiness of the sheets she was tangled in made this idea even more tempting, but her curiosity as to where he'd taken her dominated her thoughts and she surrendered, untying the blindfold at the back of her head. Her eyes adjusted to the artificial light in the room. There were no windows in sight, only a lamp and a few candles lit. At the food of her bed was her small purse, and when she sifted through it, she found her phone removed but all her other necessities remained: her wallet with ID, chapstick and concealer, and a toothbrush she still carried around out of habit from when she had braces in high school. She was thankful for it now, knowing that without it, she would have nothing to brush her teeth with tonight.

She sighed when she saw the pocket which her phone usually resided in empty. She had anticipated it would be gone but she still had hope, somehow. She rose from the bed, her limbs weak and her ankles a little wobbly, and she wondered how long she had been sleeping. She knew he had sedated her, and she hoped that it wasn't such a strong sedative that she would have slept through anything violent he may have inflicted. She shuddered at the thought, but somehow felt that he would not hurt her. Once she was standing, she examined her body for aches, discomfort or bruises, touching and feeling, but finding nothing. She exhaled in relief and moved to exit the room, turning the doorknob.

It would not open.

She tried to fight the panic surging in her chest. It would not do to lose her senses, but confinement was her ultimate fear and had been since childhood. She twisted the doorknob again and again, eventually pulling at it frantically, hoping it would break. Suddenly, her grip was lost as it opened from the outside and she was faced with her kidnapper.

"Good morning, Christine," he said simply, and she nearly scoffed at the civility of the greeting. He was her _kidnapper,_ not the doorman of her apartment complex.

"Why was the door locked?" She asked frantically, her hands still trembling.

"For your own safety. There are windows throughout this penthouse, and I would not want you to do anything drastic," he replied, and she'd never heard something so morbid. Still, he had a point, if there were windows, she might…

She shook her head at the thought. No matter how great her fear was of being trapped, no matter how tormenting the knowledge that she was, in fact, unable to leave this place, she would not lose her mind so quickly.

"Come, I will prepare breakfast for you. You must be very hungry."

"Breakfast? Jesus, are you my _host_ now? You took me here against my will, Erik."

"And _you_ were prying for information that you never should have obtained," he hissed, moving closer to her. "I highly doubt you will not expose me. You studied journalism in college, for god's sake."

She was too heated to think of asking him how he knew her college major. "What if I promised not to speak out in exchange for your promise to set me free and leave me the hell alone?"

"Your words do not convince me, just as mine would be meaningless to you."

She deliberated this for a moment. It was true, even if he set her free, she would not trust him to not silence her in another way. He could extort her, stalk her, even kill her. She would have to change her name, leave New York, leave Madame and Meg…

In that moment, she realized whether or not she ever left this place, her life was over. Her freedom would always stolen from him, one way or another, and she slammed the door in his face, panic beginning to set in.

She never heard the lock in her door click, but she didn't care. It was no use. She was trapped. She was trapped, and now her own lungs betrayed her as well, her breathing ragged and out of control before she was heaving, tears spilling from her eyes as she rocked back and forth. At one point, she felt as though she was suffocating and questioned whether or not it was possible to die from this. The logical side of her, the side which was once so dominant, knew she would not, but the person she had become since she met Erik - wild and irrational - left her choking wondering which breath she drew would be her last. Several excruciating minutes passed before she finally came down from her panic attack, her throat dry and raw.

Finding a glass of water on the dark wood bedside table, she drank from it, not caring whether or not he had possibly tainted it with drugs. The cool feeling of it sliding down her throat was worth relenting control. She waited for whatever was in the water to affect her for at least thirty minutes before she decided it was likely clean, and relaxed enough to slip back into a light, uncomfortable, dreamless sleep.

When she woke later in the day - what time, she did not know as Erik hadn't provided her with a clock - she found a paper slid under her door, Erik's elegant script on it.

 _ **Christine,**_

 _ **I would have informed you of this sooner, but I did not want to overwhelm you. There is a lock on your door which will remain locked at night or when I am away. When I am able to supervise you, it will be unlocked. There is a lock on your side as well, if you wish for privacy. I have departed during your sleep to collect your belongings, but I will likely be back by the time you wake. Do not ask how I am obtaining them...you will not be pleased.  
**_

 _ **I want you to know that despite the circumstances, you are my guest, and I wish you comfort. Anything you require, I will provide. Just say the word.**_

 _ **\- E**_

" _This would honestly be easier if he wasn't so pleasant,"_ Christine grumbled to herself. She wanted to hate him, to curse his name and storm out of this room the minute he unlocked the door and pound her fists against his chest, asking what he thought gave him the right to ruin her life.

She supposed it was the fact that she had the information necessary to ruin his.

She did not want to understand his point of view, though. She did not want to empathize with him. She wanted him to feel the coldness and emptiness she now felt, knowing that she would never see her favorite Broadway show again, would never go to her favorite cafe on Madison Avenue again, would never hear Meg's laugh or Madame Giry's funny pronunciation of some English words. The things in life she had once taken for granted in the foggy haze her grief for her father provoked, she now would never be able to appreciate.

She wished she had spent less time on tears and sorrow. She wished she had allowed herself to splurge on that discount ticket last week that still seemed so expensive, or stopped at that cafe on her way home from the opera house last night. She wished she had listened to more of Meg's jokes, or more of Madame Giry's advice.

She wished she could do all these things one more time.

She decided that sleeping might allow her to dream of these things, at least, and she returned to the luxurious bed and slipped under the covers, falling asleep nearly the minute her head hit the pillow.

Christine did not leave her room for nearly a week. Several times Erik knocked, but she would not unlock the lock that was on her side, not even so that he could bring her food. He would slide granola bars under the door with letters of concern, begging her to come out soon and have a proper meal, but she refused to face him. The nauseousness she felt in the first two days made hunger a distant memory anyway, and after that faded, her stubbornness was enough to satisfy her for the next two days. As for water, she simply drank from the sink in the en suite bathroom. The only time that she opened the door was in the middle of the night when Erik left a crate outside containing of her belongings - only necessities such as clothes, shampoo and conditioner, but no picture frames or anything to help her recall the life she had known - from her room that he had presumably stolen from Madame Giry's apartment. She did not want to think about how he likely picked their lock, lest she realize how easily he could pick the much less sophisticated lock on her bedroom door.

On the fifth day, Christine decided she would find another way out, somehow. Begging clearly would not work, but perhaps if she cooperated, if she gained his trust, he would set her free someday. Probably not in a week or even a month, but he could not be so terrible as to keep her there forever, right? Christine's logic returned to her.

Yes, of course he would not keep her here forever. The fact that he provided for her proved that he was not so cold that she could not reach him through kindness, and she hoped that she would have the strength to regard him in such a way when she felt so much anger and horror. This man stole her freedom, and she had to be _kind_ to him.

Anger began to cloud her judgment again, and she shook her head as if to shake the thoughts away, refusing to waste another minute on emotions. Logic would guide her through this. Her anger and stubborness had blinded her these past few days, trapping her in this room just as much as Erik had trapped her, and she knew that logic would help her find her way out.

When she emerged from her room, she found Erik seated on a chair in his living room. He nearly gasped at the sight of her. She didn't think she looked so bad; her eyes were a bit lifeless from the exhaustion of everything that happened, sure, and her hair was a mess, but she did not notice the stark contrast of her appearance now compared to her appearance the last time Erik saw her four days ago.

"Christine," he rasped, standing immediately and rushing to her side. His hands hovered around her, as if the sight of her was so shocking he couldn't believe she was real.  
She gaped at him, dumbfounded. Why did he care what happened to her?

"You are so pale. Come, we must get some food in you." He said, rushing to the kitchen and turning on the stove.

She moved slowly behind him, her shock delaying her physical motions. She watched in awe as he prepared what seemed to be pasta, the domesticity of the sight unsettling. Here was the formidable Phantom, cooking pasta for her. _In a suit and a mask._

He handed her a bowl of the pasta when it was complete, nearly filled to the top. Wordlessly, she took it, and brought a forkful of it to her mouth. The sauce was rich and the noodles were cooked perfectly. The taste and feeling of such delicious food in her mouth after not eating for days propelled her pace, desperately shoving more into her mouth. She must have finished in less than five minutes, scraping the bowl, her hunger ravenous now that she had given her body what it had been denied for so long.

Erik looked concerned, but did not say anything, simply refilled her bowl. "Slowly, now," he said gently. "You have had nothing but granola bars for days. You must go slowly or you will make yourself sick."

She nodded her head, choosing to conceal the fact that she had left the granola bars in a pile in the corner of the room, not wanting to accept anything he gave her.

When she was finished, she simply rose from her seat at the stainless steel counter in his lavish kitchen, retreating to her room. Sleep called for her again, as though this small exchange between her and Erik had been enough to drain her completely.

Yet, when she shut her door, the thought of locking it did not cross her mind.

Christine woke the next morning feeling much more cognizant than she had the previous day. The food she'd eaten had restored her senses, and she was finally able to observe her surroundings without her vision hazy or her thoughts delayed.

She took in the sight of the room she had been in for six days now, noticing details she had not before. It was simple, but elegant, much like Erik. Her bed was a dark blue silk, her favorite color, and there was a chair in the corner of the room with a dark wood bookshelf next to it. When she went to the shelf, she saw various novels, all oddly appealing to her. She realized they were all within her preferred genre - 19th century romance.

 _"Is it possible that he…?"_ She thought to herself. _"No, there is no way he put these books here for me. It's just a coincidence. Everyone likes these books; they're all pretty well known,"_ she justified in her mind, though she was still somewhat wary.

She stepped closer to her door, hearing a strange sound on the other side of it. When she cracked it open, an operatic voice flooded through, strong and passionate and _hypnotising,_ accompanied by a perfectly tuned piano.

She stepped out of the room, finding Erik hunched over a grand piano, passionately pounding on the keys. He periodically stopped to scrawl some words on what appeared to be sheet music in his own hand - had he composed this? She watched him for several minutes before he must have felt her gaze, turning around.

"Good morning, Christine. I apologize for waking you," he murmured.

"You didn't," she replied, and he looked up at her shocked, as though he hadn't expected a response. "What are you playing? Is it your creation?"

He stiffened, and the man she had known before all of this returned to her as his lips formed into a straight line. "That is none of your business," he snapped.

Her hands tightened into fists. "You can't expect me to live with you here for god knows how long and not know a thing about you, Erik. If you want to trap me here, we might as well get along," she said firmly.

Her logic seemed to reach him and he relaxed a bit, looking up at her in resignation.

"Very well. It is my opera, and I am sorry you even heard it."

"Why are you sorry? It was beautiful," Christine said honestly.

"It is atrocious and gruesome. It reflects something I would not wish for anyone to see." 

Christine bit her tongue, holding back multiple retorts that surfaced in her mind. _"Oh, you mean like the desperate eyes of the man you're strangling?"_ did not seem like an appropriate response, despite the circumstances. "What do you mean?" she asked instead.

He did not answer, but thoughtlessly touched his mask, turning away from her. Her heart sank as she realized something was behind that mask that he did not think anyone deserved seeing. She had assumed he was deformed, but how bad could it be? She got the sense that his mind was much more twisted, and it was what caused him to feel so ashamed. Or, even worse, someone had caused him to feel this way. Empathy flooded her again, and this time she did not push it away. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he jerked, strengthening her previous suspicion that someone had hurt him. "Will you play it again?" She asked gently, and he looked up again, his amber eyes were filled with wonder. He resumed playing, but he played something different this time, his voice much softer.

 _"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…"_

His voice was so soft, she felt as though it was surrounding her, caressing her, and her mind was silent. Her mind should have objected to her losing grip of her control, allowing herself to be swayed by his music, but no thoughts of protest came. All she could hear was his rich tenor, feeling as though it was carrying her away.

The song strengthened halfway through, his voice gaining momentum. She felt lightheaded and the room began to spin a bit…

When he rang out on a powerful final note, she felt her vision fade for a few moments, collapsing. His arms caught her before she hit the ground and she was carried into the guest room. She blinked, her vision now fuzzy, before eventually shutting them and losing consciousness completely.

 **A/N:** So sorry for the late update! I hope you guys liked this chapter, I'm pretty excited about it now that you know the *true* plot of this fic...it was never going to really be about Christine investigating Erik! That's certainly a component but this is mainly about Christine's imprisonment in Erik's penthouse. Also, can we talk about how funny the words "imprisonment" and "penthouse" seem together? Okay, I'm rambling now. I hope you all have had a wonderful week, I'm sending you all lots of love and good vibes :) huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Christine woke in the guest room of Erik's penthouse disoriented, groggy and uncomfortable once again. For a moment, she could not remember when or where she had last been awake, or what had happened to her - had he drugged her again? She struggled to open her eyes and felt a lithe hand caress her forehead before something cool and wet took its place. Several moments passed before she was able to fully rouse, and her hazy blue eyes were met with striking golden ones.

"Christine? Can you hear me?" A familiar voice asked, the tall figure the voice belonged to hovering over her. She began to make out the face, or half of it, anyway, and his cheekbone was so striking in the candlelight that it nearly took her breath away. At this she jumped up, startled by her own thoughts. She fell back onto the bed nearly the minute she rose from it, her body feeling weak and weighted, pulling her down into the abyss.

"Christine, dear, please be careful. You're very ill," Erik's smooth voice soothed, and she had never heard him sound so soft, so tender.

"I...don't understand…" she barely croaked out, the labor of speaking somehow requiring a large amount of energy.

"You have a fever of over 100 degrees, Christine. You've been asleep for hours. I was playing for you and...you fainted," he recalled, sounding horrified by the memory. Did he think he had somehow caused her illness? "The days you were not eating must have wreaked havoc on your immune system. Why did you not eat the things I slipped under the door, Christine?" He sounded exasperated now, angry at her for not taking care of herself. Why should she? What does it matter to him?

"It didn't matter to me…" she began before a coughing fit overtook her, the dryness in her throat from dehydration causing her to choke at the use of her voice. He gently placed his hand behind her, propping her up. His hand lingered for a moment after, moving slightly, as if he were debating whether or not he should rub circles on her back, and he pulled away before it began to have any comforting effect.

"Your health didn't matter to you?" His eyes were wide, filled with an amount of care she would never have thought him capable of.

 _"Didn't matter...what happened...I felt so trapped…"_ she was mumbling now, her words no longer coherent, and she was slipping into darkness.

The last thing she saw before her eyes closed once again was Erik's own golden ones shining with what appeared to be unshed tears.

She woke later in the night, now noting the time on the new clock that Erik placed on her vanity while she was sleeping. It was 3:00 AM, and she knew Erik would have locked her door to prevent her from wandering while he did god knows what during the late hours. She knew he usually left in the evenings - she could hear it in her initial days in the penthouse - and he had always returned before she woke in the morning. She resolved to cross the room anyway, as well as she could, the effort of swinging her legs over the bed nearly knocking her back out. Once she stood on her feet, lightheaded and feeling the room spin, she made her way to the door as slowly and carefully as she could. When she placed her hand on the knob and turned it, she gasped, finding it unlocked.

She stepped out into the penthouse, exploring it for the first time, knowing that Erik was not around. It was like her, she supposed, to take advantage of the opportunity to investigate even when her body was so weak she could hardly walk. In the darkness, she could make out the shapes of some of the furniture in the living area: a sleek black leather couch and chair and two side tables, both adorned with older looking miniature sculptures that provided contrast against the modern furniture. There was an antique painting hanging as well, and candles surrounding the TV stand on the right wall of the room. The TV itself was not even plugged in, looking like it had never been utilized, but the candles were short with dried wax around the edges, the frequency of their use evident. It seemed very much like Erik to use candles in lieu of the convenient light fixtures hanging from his ceiling simply for their aesthetic appeal.

She stepped quietly around the penthouse just in case he was still there, though his winter coat was missing from the coathanger. She moved to the spiral staircase by the kitchen, ascending up it as best she could. She held onto the railing, hoping to god this was not how it would end for her: falling off of a spiral staircase while sick with the flu in her kidnapper's home. When she reached the top, she found a simple bed with red velvet bedding and a violin case in the corner of the room. To the right, there was also a clothing rack with what almost appeared to be several copies of the same ensemble hanging from it: a black suit with clean, white shirts. She sifted through the rack, finding one lone dark red shirt in it, and she smiled as she touched it.

 _"Looks like Erik can go out of his comfort zone sometimes,"_ she whispered to herself, musing. She pictured the sight of him in dark red, the rich, deep color a stark contrast against his pale skin, and she shivered.

She would not think about the way he would look in red. She would not think about the way he looked at all. He was her captor and it would not do to admit to herself just how alluring his appearance truly was, from the deep tone of his dark brown hair to the cold marble of his skin…

She dismissed these thoughts, scanning the room once again.

It felt empty, with no rug, no decor, not even a stool to sit on. The bed was pristine, with no wrinkles or creases in sight, and she wondered if he ever even slept in it. The rumors of him residing in the opera house attic, and the tunnels she found him in beneath it, caused her to wonder if he even slept in this penthouse at all, or if he had another residence beyond those tunnels. There was certainly hardly any evidence of him using anything here. At the end of the room were more floor to ceiling windows, and from this point, she could see the Chrysler building in the skyline. She could tell roughly where she was in the city now, and if she were to find a laptop, she could probably email Madame Giry and inform her of her location…

Something kept her from looking for the required technology, though, and she wasn't sure if it was the weakness in her bones or the strange emptiness in the room that she somehow felt the need to fill. What was keeping her glued to this spot, staring out at the city she loves and knowing she will never step foot in it again? What was preventing her from finding her way out? She shook these thoughts away, sick of interrogating herself when she barely had the energy to breathe. She knew searching for a laptop wasn't wise when it would likely be locked and she could be caught any moment. She fell back against the bed, knowing Erik would likely kill her if he found her in it, but she was far too tired to care. She lay looking out the window and admiring the lights for several minutes before slowly descending down the stairs to return to her own bed, logic returning to her own bed and knowing that it would not do to have Erik angry at her when she needed him to help her through her illness. The moment she shut the door to the guest room, she heard the front door open.

A voice immediately flooded the penthouse, but it was not Erik's; it was more gruff, and she could barely make out the words, her mind swimming from sickness.

"I do not understand why on Earth you needed me to find you Tamiflu, Erik. You have never, in your life, taken care of yourself when you've been sick. Hell, you barely get sick with your obsessive qualities, you don't even touch the railings on staircases…" the voice grumbled, and Christine recognized the hint of an accent in it: Mr. Khan. The thought to swing open the door he had left unlocked and scream for Mr. Khan to rescue her did not even cross her mind. The only thing she could think to do in her haze was to keep listening.

"Well, Nadir, I suppose I am turning over a new leaf. Is that not what you've always wanted?" Erik snapped, now sounding closer, likely standing by the staircase.

"The girl is missing, Erik. I last saw her with _you._ I am nearly certain that if I search this apartment, I will find her laying somewhere, sick and disoriented from whatever you have done to her - "

She heard Erik shuffle on his feet and Nadir went silent. Erik spoke so quietly, it was a miracle she could hear him. "I would _never_ lay a hand on her." It was silent, too silent after his statement, and Christine opened the door slightly, finding Erik with his hands against Nadir's shoulders, pushing him against the wall.

"Then how did she get here? Surely she didn't decide to just follow you here without a word to Madame Giry or her employers."

Erik pushed him harder. "You know nothing, Khan. Leave at once, or I will make you."

"If she does not return safely within a week, I will have no choice but to investigate you."

Erik's grip on his shoulders loosened, his arms falling slack at his sides. "Don't do this, Erik," Nadir said so quietly, it came out as a whisper. "You can't control everything. If she does not want to be here, you cannot make her want to be here." Erik once again lunged towards him, now pushing him out the front door.

"Giry has already searched for her beneath the opera house. She does not know where you took her, but she knows with Christine's recent curiosity about _the Phantom,_ it's likely you did something to silence her. I will keep the police at bay for a week. Make this right, Erik."

Erik slammed the door shut.

Christine's mind was far too jumbled to make sense of what had happened. What was Nadir even talking about? She was not here because Erik wanted her here, she was here because Erik knew she could expose him. Though, she supposed there was a number of other ways he could keep her quiet, so why had he trapped her here?

It was too much for her to make sense of, and she collapsed in her bed once more, her mind going silent as she shut her eyes once again.

When she opened her eyes again, Erik had one long, pale hand on her cheek, gently tilting her head up. "Christine," he whispered. "You must sit up as best you can and take your medicine. It is the only way you will get better," he said, now placing his fingers under her chin to guide her as he brought a small glass to her lips. She opened her mouth, drinking the liquid, and lay back down the minute it had finished traveling down her throat. She struggled to remove the blankets from her body, feeling far too hot, her whole body burning. "Erik…" she whimpered, wincing both at the discomfort she felt and at the sound of her own voice pleading for his aid.

"Shh," he hushed, pulling the blanket off of her legs and arms, leaving her torso and chest covered. "You will likely get chills later on, so let's keep a bit of your body warm, yes?" She attempted to nod her head, though to him it only looked like a shaky movement. "I will leave the door unlocked, so if you require something and I do not hear you call, you can come find me." She didn't respond, simply settled into her pillow. She lay there for several moments, eyes shut, waiting for sleep to claim her once again. He must have thought she had drifted off, because she felt his hand on her cheek once more, tracing it so lightly, he was barely touching her.

"I truly am…" he began, his voice cracking. Several moments passed before he finished his utterance. "I truly am sorry, Christine."

At this, she finally slipped back into the comforting darkness of sleep, his voice echoing in her dreams, the sensation of his cool fingers on her cheek lingering.

 **A/N:** Sorry for the delay! Yesterday was my birthday and I was also taking a break from the internet. I'd planned to get this chapter out despite those things, but I was honestly feeling really bad about this fic. I've put so much planning and effort to it, and I feel like it's still not good enough. But I was encouraged to just keep putting out chapters anyway, since I already have the next four written, and hopefully I'll be feeling better enough about this fic to continue writing it soon. I know this chapter is a bit unrealistically fluffy, I know this whole fic is...as much as I want to write something dark and nuanced and complex, and as much as I initially set out to do that, I don't know if I can. This is just what I've come up with. I planned to be darker, but this sugary sweet mess is just what came out (in my defense, if you haven't realized already, this is slightly based off a Disney movie/musical, so…) I hope you guys like it anyway :)

Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative for editing, and also littlelonghairedoutlaw for a conversation we just had encouraging me to keep going, and wheel-of-fish for a conversation we had a few days ago. You guys are so amazingly supportive and I am so lucky to know you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Two days passed before Christine had enough strength leave her bed. Throughout those two days, Erik had not ceased in his mission to nurse her back to health, checking on her nearly every hour and leaving her door unlocked at all times. She had not questioned why he had left it unlocked, and she supposed he didn't think she even noticed, but she assumed it was due to the concern he had expressed throughout the time she was sick. He had likely left it unlocked in case she needed to find him throughout the night.

The emptiness she had felt in her initial week in the penthouse was now filled with a strange warmth. She identified it as gratitude, mixed with something else, something she didn't quite understand. It was similar to the empathy she had felt for Erik when he had first played for her, knowing that something about his face had caused him suffering.

It was different in a way, though, and now that she had more energy, she could not help but ruminate on it, completely over-analyzing her own thoughts and actions.

Why had she not found the laptop to contact Madame Giry? Why had she not screamed for Mr. Khan? She relentlessly criticized herself internally, wondering just how insane she must be to have not seized the opportunity to leave this place.

What would happen if she left, she wondered? Would her life be the same? Would Erik extort her, torment her to keep her quiet, or would he leave her alone in exchange for her silence? She supposed it would be latter considering the gentle nature he had exhibited during her illness. If this were true, though, how would her life play out after being free of him? Would she return to wiping down the bar, saving every penny, not even sparing a few dollars for her favorite latte more than once a month? Would she find a new vocal instructor, one that could hardly compare to Erik's genius, just to avoid the awkwardness of resuming a professional relationship with the man that kidnapped her?

She felt as though returning to her old life wouldn't quite solve every problem. Here, in this penthouse, she had far too much time to think of just how many mistakes she had made, how much time she had wasted, and it had led her on the wrong path. Being here had steered her off of that path, and perhaps she would not be moving on any path at all if she was here, but at least she would no longer be on the wrong one.

No matter where she was, she realized she was trapped. She was trapped in her own life by her own hesitance and self doubt, and had wasted years by not chasing her dreams. It was likely too late now, unless, perhaps, Erik could help her…

Would he still help her? Would he still teach her? He had expressed his desire for her to become a star. Maybe they could form their own deal: if she were to work diligently enough with him, he could set her free to perform…

She decided against proposing this idea to him, both fearing his reaction and his answer. Instead, she resolved to simply ask him to instruct her once more. When she exited her room, her question for him still lingering in her mind, she found him sorting through several bags on the kitchen counter.

"What are you up to?" She spoke, and he nearly jumped at the sound of her voice. She held back a giggle at his reaction. The fearsome Phantom, startled by a woman no taller than five foot two.

He smoothed imaginary wrinkles in his clothing, a nervous habit she'd noticed in her time with him, and return to pulling things out of the bag - a box of tissues, cough drops, and a box of lemon tea. "Simply some things to hasten your recovery," he replied, opening another bag. "...and some slightly unnecessary purchases to improve your mood."

Her eyes brightened at the sight of several DVDs and a clean pair of sleeping clothes, knowing the feel of fresh cotton would suit her much better in her recovery than her old, torn up flannel pajamas. "What movies are those?" She said, putting her hands out in a request to grab them. He nodded, silently giving her permission, and she pulled the bag towards herself. She sifted through it, finding all of her favorite films: _Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights,_ and several other literary film adaptations. She looked up at him with suspicion in her eyes. "Erik...these are all my favorites. How did you know?" She questioned.

"Facebook," he deadpanned.

Facebook. _Facebook._ Erik had _Facebook stalked_ her? She began to cough, an odd mix of laughter and shortness of breath mixing in her chest, and he moved to her side, swiftly handing her a glass of water. "Perhaps you should not push yourself," he murmured as she accepted the glass, a hand hovering over her shoulder like it had when she had first emerged from her room the previous week. She did not shy away from him, but did not lean into his hand either, simply standing still as she looked into his eyes once more.  
He had Facebook stalked her. He had cared for her in her sickness. He had kept her here when he truly did not need to, when he had other ways of keeping her quiet…

Oh. _Oh._

She finally understood, and she swayed on her feet at the realization, feeling as though she could faint again. He now placed two hands on her arms, steadying her, and she found that she was not repulsed by the feeling of her captor touching her, even with the knowledge that he was fond of her. If anything, his touch felt soothing...it felt _right_...

She tried to mentally chastise herself for this, but she knew it was in vain. There had always been something about Erik that had intrigued her beyond her normal curious tendencies as a journalist. Instead of criticizing herself for the odd thoughts filling her mind, she simply distracted herself, wanting to forget the entire situation. "Can we watch one of these? I'm really tired but I'm sick of sleeping. It might be nice just to relax" she requested, and he nodded, guiding her to the couch and placing a blanket over her shoulders. She accepted it, pulling it around her as if she was trying to place weight on the areas that had now lost his touch, the presence of his hands on her arms now missing, leaving an empty air surrounding the skin. He placed Pride and Prejudice in the DVD player before moving to exit the room. "Wait, Erik…" He halted at the sound of his name. "Will you stay with me, if you don't have anything else to do? I know this is an odd situation...but like I said, if I'm going to be here, we should get along...and I guess I just miss having people to talk to," she admitted, and he sat on the chair in the corner of the room, so far from her she could not see him when she faced the TV. He looked uncomfortable in the small chair, his long legs crossed awkwardly over each other.

Twenty minutes into the film, she mustered up the courage to speak the words she had been holding back.

"You know, you don't have to sit there," she spoke. He immediately rose from his seat, moving to exit the room.

"No, no, Erik! That's not what I meant," she laughed, and he seemed baffled by her ability to find humor in the situation. "I meant, that chair is pretty small for you...if you're uncomfortable, you're welcome to sit with me," she said gently. He furrowed his eyebrows - or, at least, the one perfectly defined eyebrow that she could see - not moving from his spot, seeming to wonder if he'd heard her correctly. She giggled again, patting the empty space next to her on the couch. He sat down at the other end of it, as far away from her as possible, and despite having more leg room, he still looked terribly awkward sitting there. Perhaps it was the domesticity of it that was so jarring; Erik's air of formality preventing him from ever appearing _casual._ She doubted he was even capable of lounging around, his stiff posture and elegant body language never faltering in sophistication. 

They watched the rest of the film mostly in silence, Erik seeming to tense during the scene featuring Darcy's confession of love. She wondered if he felt awkward watching a romantic movie next to her. She supposed he likely felt awkward watching a romantic movie in general, the stoic, composed man he was - or tried to be, anyway. During the scene where Elizabeth read Darcy's letter of apology, Christine finally spoke.

"I think this is what I love most about this story," she whispered. He finally looked at her, waiting for her explanation. "There's so much more to Darcy that Elizabeth never saw. He's suffered through a lot, but he hid it so well that she assumed he was arrogant and unfeeling, Really, he had so many people break his trust, he just didn't want Bingley to go through that with Jane or even for himself to go through that with Elizabeth," Christine explained.

Erik raised an eyebrow, willing her to continue. "Of course, Darcy was a jerk. His past doesn't excuse his actions... but it explains them, and when Elizabeth hears his side of the story, she's able to understand him. And with Darcy, when he hears how his actions made her feel, he's able to grow. He changes his behavior and does everything he can to make up for all the things he did to hurt her. I think if they'd been more transparent in the beginning, maybe they could have avoided all the heartache and loved each other from the start, but the journey they went on through understanding and forgiving each other is something I don't think they would've benefited from missing out on." 

Erik simply nodded, pondering her words. She couldn't tell if he understood that they were vaguely directed towards him. She hardly understood it herself, wondering why the hell she thought it so important to express understanding and empathy for her captor in the first place.

Of course, there was an answer hidden within the murmured beats of her heart, but it was all too soon and too confusing for her to hear.

Minutes passed before she felt Erik's burning gaze on her once again. "Do you think you could've forgiven Darcy?" he asked.

Christine now turned to face him, her eyes looking directly into his. "Could you?" 

He turned away at this, and though the skin on his face remained ghostly pale, she noticed a tinge of red on his exposed ear. "I think his intentions can be forgiven considering that he thought they were necessary," she added, and he raised his head, his golden eyes shining with hope. "But I think that's enough literary analysis for me," she laughed breathlessly, now feeling slightly awkward about the conversation that had occured. It was too deep, too much, and he was _too close_. She focused her eyes on the movie once again, watching as intently as possible, but her focus lacked, her mind replaying the previous moment on repeat.

She grew tired at the end of the movie, and Erik offered to put another on. She agreed, though it was now becoming difficult to process the images on the television. Ten minutes into Wuthering Heights, she finally let her head fall against the arm of the couch, ignoring the discomfort it caused her neck. A few more moments passed before she felt Erik's hand on her shoulder, but she didn't open her eyes, not wanting to face him again and have questions flood her mind once more. When she did not respond, she felt one arm slip underneath her waist, lifting her up and carrying her into the guest room. It was the third time he had carried her, and she allowed herself to relish in the weightless feeling his arms provided, feeling as though she was floating in the abyss her sleepy haze provoked. When he lay her down on the bed, she felt the absence of his arms once again: that cold feeling in the place his touch had been. She snuggled into the mattress, attempting to alleviate the odd sensation before sleeping once more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Christine had now been in Erik's penthouse for one month.

If she was being honest with herself, she wasn't even entirely sure she still _needed_ to be there. The necessity of her captivity was never brought up in conversation again, and with the constant kindness Erik had shown her since the week she had been sick, she wondered if he would free her upon request.

She had a mess to return to though, of that she was certain. She assumed she had not been reported missing, as Mr. Khan never did search the apartment for her, and Madame Giry _did_ know of the Phantom, so Erik had likely told them she was with him of her own free will. She doubted Madame Giry would believe that so easily, though, so there had to be something else at play.

The dynamic between Mr. Khan and Erik was a confusing one. He seemed to constantly enable his behavior, all the while threatening to find a way to condemn him for it. She had listened in on their visits and phone conversations, searching for answers in between the lines of how their odd friendship - if it could even be called that - had begun. There was still so much she did not know about Erik, and though she had managed to coax a few vague facts out of him, she still had no clue what his last name was or where he was born.

The little bit of information she had gathered, though, was ironically rather deep. She did not know his favorite color, but during another late night conversation about literature, he had vaguely revealed his own plight regarding his face. He was born deformed, abandoned by his father and hated by his mother, eventually escaping the abusive home. This, of course, was not directly admitted, but rather presented through metaphors about literary characters. This covert method of exchanging information sufficed for Christine, knowing that he was likely unable to properly express his trauma in any other way. She knew more terrible things happened to him after his childhood, though, something that caused the white scars that littered his back that she had once seen when she peered into the guest bathroom mistakenly, not expecting to find him in there removing his dress shirt.

Her heart ached for him. 

She did not know what had inflicted those scars or what had caused him to live a life in the shadows after he built the opera house, but she knew there was some damage done that was likely irreversible, and she accepted that. She found that she did not want to fix him, only aid him, soothe him.

The most astounding realization of all, though, that only came to her late at night and was quickly dismissed before she could ponder it further, was that she was quite certain she forgave him.

She couldn't fathom how lonely he must be. Whether that loneliness was of his own making was up to question, but even then, how could he not believe that was what he was worthy of, what he deserved, when his own mother had placed that thought in his mind? She was sickened by the fact that the very basis of the thoughts in his mind, those dark thoughts that she knew tormented him during the rare nights when he did sleep, were instilled in him by the one person that was meant to teach him how to be good. Instead, he was taught he was not good, would never be good, and she supposed he believed there was no use in trying.

He would play the part of being the bad, of being the Phantom, if it was the only way for him to live freely. If he could not be good, be out in the open and living honestly, could not be accepted for his face or his music or the darkness within him, he would take refuge in that darkness and inflict it on other people. To Christine, it seemed like he was the Phantom because he felt that was who he was made to be. This was here analysis of Erik's character, though he was not quite a Jane Austen love interest nor was he the featured figure of an editorial investigation.

It was wrong, but she forgave him, if only because everything he had done since she had fallen ill was right.

She noticed that he no longer left the penthouse at night. She knew he previously had to go tamper with the opera house performances, but he now spent his evenings on the couch with her, moving through a long list of literary film adaptations she had yet to see. They were watching _Sense and Sensibility_ when she knew she could not hold back her question any longer. She asked him if he ever intended to continue his business as the Phantom, and he froze up.

"That is none of your business," he muttered, but she saw through his facade.

"Bullshit, Erik. We're friends now. I know of your struggles, you know of mine...and what you don't know, you've likely found somewhere deep within the recesses of Google. So tell me."

He sighed deeply before responding. "I suppose...this is a business I am growing tired of," he admitted. "I only...I only made the opera productions follow my direction because I needed them to sustain myself...I needed...I needed something to fill the time, Christine."

"Time?" She had questioned.

He looked at her pointedly. "Nothing escapes you, my dear. Fine, it was not to fill the _time._ If you must know, as pathetically melancholic as this answer is, I needed something to fill the…" he became quiet as he searching for the right word. _"Emptiness,"_ he finally added under his breath, partially hoping that she would not even hear it.

She did. Christine felt a tightness in her chest - pain for him. "And now?"

"And now, I find, analyzing literary adaptations is a much more suitable hobby," he smiled, and she thought she had never seen such a fascinating sight. His thin lips stretched out in a way that was so unfamiliar, yet so entrancing, she wanted nothing more than to provoke that sight again.

She knew that analyzing literary adaptations was not truly what had filled those empty, dark spaces within him, though, and he was simply speaking vaguely: the way he always did when he was unable to outright admit something. She felt warmth at the pit of her stomach at the realization that she had somehow changed him with her company, with her friendship and perhaps, with the forgiveness she had shown him, though she still hardly realized she was giving it.

She had not thought much about the night he had stolen her away, though, and a sudden provocation of the memory reminded her of the lasso within his pocket.

Buquet. How had she forgotten about what happened to Buquet?

Could she truly forgive him so easily when he had taken the life of another man? She was horrified that she had forgotten, horrified that she had _forgiven_ everything else, horrified that she had touched and soothed and tried to help him. She stiffened next to him on the couch, and it did not go unnoticed by him.

"Christine?" He asked, but she did not reply. "Christine? What is going on in that mind of yours?" He said, raising a shaky hand to turn her face towards his, and she flinched at his touch. He yanked his hand away, his head hanging low, the masked side of his face turned towards her, hiding his expression.

"I am sorry, Erik, I did not mean to...I was just thinking, and I was startled…"

"You do not have to explain yourself, my dear," he snapped, the usually fond use of _"dear"_ now hinting at bitterness.

She would have felt that familiar ache of sorrow for him in her chest if she could have stopped seeing that rope in her mind.

"Erik...I want to ask about something. I think I know the answer, but if things…" she stopped herself before saying _"if things continue the way they have,"_ not wanting to hint that the fact that things were going anywhere in the first place. "I need to know," she said simply, summoning up the courage to look at him.

He turned to face her. "You may ask me anything, Christine, but I cannot promise I will provide an answer."

"You will. Or else you will regret it."

He seemed to pale at this, Christine's strength and agency always holding a power over him she did not quite understand, nor did he. He was the Phantom, for god's sake, yet he trembled at the sight of her turning her chin up at him resolutely, her jaw clenched tightly.

"Very well," he replied, nodding his head. "What do you want to know?"

"Buquet. I want to know what you did to Buquet."

There was a long pause, Erik searching for words but not finding the right ones. What is the right way to admit that you took someone's life? What is the right way to admit that you cannot bring yourself to regret it?

"I did not mean to kill him, Christine. That is what I need you to understand," he finally spoke.

She nodded, hot tears forming in her eyes at the admittance that he had, in fact, killed him. She had not wanted to believe it, not after all the time they had shared together this past month, but she could not live in a fantasy anymore.

"I simply meant to punish him...to scare him away from the opera house and from ever laying a hand on one of those girls again. I saw things, Christine; things he did that I should have stopped and never did. It was often an unwanted caress or a lewd comment, and while I knew it was a gross misuse of his position in the casting team, it did not feel grave enough to warrant exposing myself. The ballet girls often attempted to report it, but they were discouraged from doing so. I wish I had intervened then...then maybe...maybe no one would have gotten hurt." His voice broke in a way that she had not expected it to. The Phantom was dark, unforgiving, but Erik...Erik was tender in a way that constantly surprised her.

"He began to commit much larger offenses, though I never witnessed them myself. I heard of them throughout the hallways, ballet dancers whispering warnings to each other to not be caught alone with him, and I tried to think of ways to keep him away from them, threats to make, but nothing seemed right. I could have had him fired, but I knew that he would blame one of the girls. I wanted to try to scare him away instead. I did not want to act until I had the perfect plan to keep him from ever laying a hand on on a woman again, lest he act out in vengeance on one or all of them for clearly speaking about what happened. But...but when I overheard him discussing his next target with another member of the crew...Christine, I…"

Christine grew pale. Was it Meg? He seemed to sense this question on the tip of her tongue, answering her before it even escaped her lips. "It was not a ballet member, Christine. It was someone he did not have as much power over, someone who was not in the cast, but someone who had caught his eye nonetheless...I could not let him near you, Christine. I was enraged. So, I took my Punjab lasso, and I did not look back for a second. I...I wrapped it around his neck but he struggled too much and... _oh, Christine._ Please do not be afraid. I would never hurt you. I did not mean to kill him...I have lived a life of crime before, Christine, and it is not something I wish to go back to. Not when I have seen such beauty, such kindness... _Christine…"_

Out of all the results of the conversation about Buquet she had anticipated, she had never expected this surge of empathy, this swell of an unfamiliar sense of fondness in her chest, stronger than any of the emotions she had felt in regard to him before, to take over her, causing her to lean forward slowly before falling completely into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. They were both crying, she realized, when she felt tears rolling down her cheeks while his body was racked with sobs. "I am so sorry, Christine. I wanted to be a better man for you. I wanted to cease being the Phantom and become a teacher instead, _your_ teacher, or whatever else you would allow me to be…" His voice faded out in a whimper, and her heart shattered at the helpless sound escaping him, remembering how cold and unfeeling he had once been as her instructor. Now, he was falling to pieces in her arms, and she would put him back together, god so help her.

"Thank you for protecting me," she whispered, before placing a kiss to the cold porcelain of his mask. He could not feel it, as she hoped he wouldn't, but it felt right to give him that small peck, like she was practicing for the moment she _would_ place a kiss where he could feel it, whether that be his cheek or…

She pulled away from him at the thought.

He was still a criminal. He was still her captor. She could not think such things.

She gave him a sad smile before turning away from him to face the television once again. They were halfway through the film when Christine noticed puffy white flakes floating down outside.

"Erik, look!" She exclaimed excitedly, pointing.

He seemed taken aback by her enthusiasm, the joy in her voice a stark contrast to the nature of their previous conversation. He looked out the window to see the source of her excitement: a heavy snow shower coating the city in a glistening white sheet. He smiled at her, and her grin only widened at the rare sight.

She was becoming addicted to those rare smiles, she realized, the sight of them giving her an intoxicating feeling of dizziness, of _lightness._

"Would you like to go out, my dear?"

Her grin faded into an open-mouthed look of shock. Had she heard him right?

He chuckled darkly before repeating himself, the expose corner of his lip turned up in a smirk. "Christine, would you like to go for a walk in the snow?"

She was on her feet before she had even replied, sprinting across the room to find her winter jacket somewhere within the closet of the guest room. He met her by the door, a dark blue scarf in his hands. He held it up to her, seeming to ask for permission for contact in the way he always did, and she nodded her head, willing him to proceed. He wrapped the scarf around her neck, fastening it a little too tightly, and she giggled at the care he took to ensure her neck was entirely covered. "We must protect your voice, Christine, if we ever hope to resume improving it." He seemed to not realize what he was promising, and she looked at him in confusion, wondering if he really meant it.

Would he really instruct her again? If he instructed her, didn't that serve the purpose of preparing her to perform? And if she were to perform, wouldn't he have to set her free?

She found that the answers to these questions did not quite matter as much in the moment. It was likely one of the first times in her life that she did not immediately feel the need to seek the answer to something. In that moment, all she wanted was to enjoy her stroll throughout the snow covered city with Erik. He offered her an arm, and she took it, reveling in the feeling of his thin but strong form against hers.

He took her to Central Park, but not before stopping by a cafe to purchase her a hot chocolate. They sat on a bench deep within the trees of Central Park, Christine placing the hot chocolate in between her thighs to keep it balanced. He laughed quietly under his breath at the sight, and she felt as though she'd never get over the sounded of his light, easy chuckle, so different from the harshness of his appearance. His laughter was smooth, gentle, in the same way his voice could be. They sat in silence for a few moments, simply watching the flakes flurry down in a cascade of white.

"My papa loved the snow," Christine finally said, breaking the comfortable silence.  
Erik looked to her to indicate his attention, a considerate action he was prone to. It was how he asked her to proceed, expressed his interest in what she had to say, and it always caused warmth to rise in her chest in the acknowledgement she felt.

"He said it reminded him of Sweden. When the air is so cold and crisp, and everything is so bright, he said it hid the greyness that the city is often clouded in. I loved Philadelphia, but I think it was easier for him to pretend he was back home during the winter." 

Erik nodded, not expressing any surprise at the mention of her home being Philadelphia. He obviously already knew. She likely should have been uncomfortable by the fact that he had thoroughly researched her before they grew close, likely before he had even taken her to his penthouse, but she only felt oddly flattered.

"My papa was really my only friend growing up, you know. I don't know what it was about me that kids didn't like. I know teachers thought I was too headstrong, but the kids never really explained what bothered them about me. I guess I just seemed different," she shrugged.

"You are marvelous, Christine."

She snorted. "Well, tell that to just about everyone else in my life, Erik. I had no friends in middle school, I only had Meg in high school. In college, I tried to socialize, but I knew that I was never quite really 'in.' I was just kind of there," she confessed. "I was never on the receiving end of anyone's...affection, either," she said awkwardly, trying to find a way to phrase it.

"You never...you've never been in a relationship?"

"Nope. I liked a lot of guys, but I just...I guess I was just too much for them, journalist nature and all," she laughed, though there was a hint of sorrow in her eyes. "Too much drive, too much curiosity, too much of everything...I suppose the same could be said for why I'm here with you."

When he didn't seem to understand, she sighed, realizing she had to elaborate. "I investigated you. It was none of my business, and yet, I investigated you." She almost added _"and look where it got me,"_ but it did not feel like the right statement, when sitting on this bench with him did not feel like such a horrible fate, even if she had abandoned the life she had once known against her will. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, by the way, about the _consequences_ of my investigation. I just meant...I just wanted to you know, I know how it feels to be isolated. Not to the same degree as you, of course. I would never compare our lives because I know mine has been much less difficult. I just mean...I understand, Erik."

He simply stared at her in wonder, his golden eyes filled with that look of affection that always caused butterflies in her stomach. She looked away before they could rise up to her throat and threaten to spill any sentimental words that might stretch beyond the boundaries she had set for herself. However, she decided to break past one wall, placing a hand on his while still staring straight forward, watching the snow continue to fall. His hand clenched underneath hers, stiffening, and she ran her thumb across his palm. He had just relaxed under her touch when she pulled away, only to readjust before entwining her arm through his, leaning her head on his sharp but broad shoulder and finding his hand once again. For a second, she thought she had heard him almost whimper, and she smiled at the mess of a man against her, this man that put so much effort into seeming strong and composed when he all but crumbled under her touch. They remained like that until Christine's nose had gone numb, and they retreated into the penthouse, making more hot cocoa at Christine's request and settling on the couch next to each other, a little closer than they'd been the last time.

 **A/N: Thank you all so much for the incredible reviews on the last two chapters, I'm feeling much better about this fic! I hope you all are having a wonderful week, I'm sending you all lots of good vibes and love :)**

 **Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

New York City was coated in snow progressively more throughout the month of December, one particularly cold week before Christmas bringing a total blizzard. Christine was excited about this, of course; it no longer hindered her ability to go to school or work, and she certainly wouldn't be spending long periods of time walking outside in the cold. For the first time in years, she was able to appreciate it solely for its aesthetic aspects without its inconvenience spoiling the fun. Erik took her out frequently now, always donning a large-brimmed fedora to hide the masked side of his face. They went for walks so often that she suspected he did not even expect her to stay by his side on them any longer, and the thought was both comforting and confusing to her. She knew she was likely not his prisoner anymore, but he had yet to formally free her. She was nearly certain that if she asked him, he would, though it would likely be a messy situation that would break his heart.

A part of her knew it would break hers as well.

What _did_ she even have to return to, anyway? Shifts at the opera house bar? An apartment which was not even hers, a family which was not even hers that she constantly felt she was burdening? With Erik, despite how wrong and twisted the premise of her living situation was, she did not feel as though she was somewhere she was not meant to be. Despite how lacking in social skills he was, their conversations felt right. Despite how odd his mannerisms were, his touches, his gestures felt right.

Somehow, everything felt _right._

The only thing that did not feel right was the nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her she was not allowed to feel this way, to feel any way, for him. It was that voice that constantly caused her to push these thoughts away before she could fully ponder them, fully allow them to develop. Her affections for Erik were as much of a secret to her as they were to him.

Still, any stranger on the street could see it. They would never suspect Christine was walking with her captor, the Phantom, but rather an older, more hesitant man with an obnoxiously large hat, taking great care not to intimidate Christine with his ardor. Christine would be seen being timid, but affectionate nonetheless, in her responses. The pair would walk arm-in-arm sometimes, other times they would steal glances at each other when they should have been watching for ice on the ground.

The blizzard had finally slowed to a light flurry, the outskirts of the storm now hovering over Manhattan, when Erik suggested they go to a tea shop. Christine was eager to get out of the penthouse, spending the entire week trapped indoors for her health. Erik refused to let her go out into the biting cold wind when she had only recovered from the flu a month ago. He was far too cautious, she knew, but she could not object to his concerns; not when she knew they came from a place of deep care.

As they walked through the Upper East Side, Christine pointed out various shop displays for Christmas. Erik grumbled occasionally in response, sometimes giving a rare mumble of _"yes, that is very nice, Christine."_ She sensed his disdain for the holidays, and she wished more than anything that she could rewrite his past, or at least replace whatever bad experiences he had with good ones. They were sitting in the back of Christine's favorite cafe, Erik hiding his prominent form in the corner, when she finally suggested they celebrate the holidays in some manner.

"Please, Erik? We could get a plastic tree so it's not making a mess or anything, and it's easy to bring into the penthouse! It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just something a little festive."

Erik scoffed. "You think I would get you a _plastic_ tree? You do not at all understand my standards, my dear."

She laughed lightly, knowing that he was not truly peeved with her. It took her some time to grow used to his sardonic humor, but once she did, she could not get enough of his teasing, even if it was sometimes bordering on bitter sarcasm. Erik found that he could not get enough of her laughter, either, and sought out to make as many witty retorts as he could manage.

"Erik, you're diverting from the subject. If you're truly uncomfortable with Christmas, I won't push it. I've just always loved the holidays."

He sighed, pausing for a significant amount of time before replying. "I've never had any reason to celebrate the holidays, Christine," he said so quietly, she scarcely heard him. "It is difficult to celebrate anything when you do not have anyone to share it with."

Her lips tugged down in that look of sorrow for him that so frequently graced her features now. It was always followed immediately by a sad smile, and sometimes, if he was lucky, a touch to his shoulder. She reached across the table, placing her small, gentle hand on top of his, and he felt as though he'd received the best - and only - Christmas gift of his life.

"You're not alone anymore, Erik. I won't push you, but I certainly think you'll enjoy the holidays if you'll allow me to show you how to. Also, while we're on the subject, I prefer plastic trees. Less chance of bugs popping out."

At that, she could see the exposed corner of his lips turned up slightly in a smile, though the shadow his hat cast made it difficult to see. Still, it was enough to fill her with warmth, warmth that she carried with her for their entire journey back to the penthouse through the cold.

The next morning, Christine woke to find the penthouse empty. As always, Erik had left her a note, informing her of where he had gone and when he intended to return.

 _ **Christine,**_

 _ **I have gone out to procure a few items, all of which I think will please you immensely. I look forward to your reaction. Do not make breakfast, I will purchase some pastries on my way back.**_

 _ **\- E**_

She ran her thumb over his elegant script, as if trying to focus more intently on the curves and lines, wishing there was more to read. She could not help but think of how much she wished there was more of Erik in this penthouse, more of evidence of his mind and his life and his struggles, more for her to decipher...more for her to adore.

At this, she put the paper down and scurried to the coffee maker, the sound of it brewing driving her thoughts away. She hoped caffeine would aid in keeping them away, too, as the haziness of sleep allowed her thoughts to flow much more freely, and that was more than she could bear.

Not now. She could not think these things now. She wasn't ready...was she?

She had been there for six weeks and had only fully begun to understand Erik two weeks before. How quickly could one grow comfortable with someone? How quickly could one justifiably say that their resent, their discomfort, turned into something else entirely?

She supposed her feelings could change quite as quickly as Erik could. He had transformed entirely in these six weeks, his current self vastly different from the man she had met two months ago. Or was he? She supposed her first impression of Erik was not so far off from how he behaved now - surprisingly charming, yet snarky, but in a funny way. Composed, elegant, confusing...it was only when he had become her teacher that he was rude. Then, when he stole her away, she assumed the worst of him, though she could see now that he did it out of necessity. Too many rumors were spreading about the opera house about the Phantom, and the Phantom had just committed a much worse crime than extorting the managers. She knew he was trying to protect himself.

As she thought about it more, she realized he was protecting her too.

There was a number of ways he could have kept her quiet: extortion, harassment, sabotage. Instead, he chose not to hurt her. He chose to take her somewhere safe and keep her there as long as he felt was necessary to protect himself from exposure.

She sipped on her coffee - black, with a touch of sugar - diving deeper into her mind, analyzing her current situation as deeply as possible. She had always pondered things deeply in life, but she never had much to ponder until she met Erik. Now, she had hours worth of things to internally debate and decipher, and her mind ran through every possibility until she heard the door open and saw Erik struggling with several bags, his winter hat covered in snow, nearly tipping off his head. She giggled at the sight, moving to him.

"Good morning, Mr. Scary Phantom. You certainly look intimidating with all that snow on you," she teased, and he rolled his eyes.

 _He rolled his eyes._ He was growing so much more comfortable with her now, doing so many more normal things: smiling, rolling his eyes, even occasionally _eating with her._  
He was beginning to seem so much more _real,_ and that only made her feelings feel more real. She realized she had been staring at his shadowed face when he cleared his throat awkwardly. She removed a few bags from his arm, setting them down on the marble kitchen counter.

"Look inside the bags, Christine. There is a multitude of things to keep you occupied today," he hummed.

She excitedly ran her hands through the first bag, feeling a small Christmas tree, the perfect size to sit in the middle of the kitchen counter. There were a few ornaments, too, simple and gold, and several strings of light for the tree and the walls of the penthouse. In the second bag, she found something even more surprising: a box of sugar cookie mix and several cookie cutters in shapes like Christmas trees, snowflakes, and even a heart. She looked up at him, baffled.

" _You_ bought cookie baking supplies?"

He simply moved his sharp shoulders up and down in a poor attempt at a shrug. "You once mentioned that one of your favorite holiday activities is baking. I'd hate to deny you of that."

She marveled at him, mouth agape. "Will you help me make them?" she asked excitedly.

He gave a grim smile. "I think I should attempt to keep up appearances as the fearsome man that I am, Christine. Baking cookies is hardly intimidating."

"Will you at least eat a few?"

"If it would please you."

She smiled at that and began to prepare the baking supplies, preheating the oven. When everything was correctly measured, she took a few moments to take a bite of the croissant he had brought her, then returned to mixing in the bowl. He sat in the leather chair in the living room, attempting to focus on a book, though she caught him glancing at her several times. Each time, her cheeks flushed a rosy shade, and she turned quickly before he could see.

At one point, she was so startled by his gaze that she tore open the bag of flour far too deeply, the white powder falling to the ground. He shook his head in teasing disapproval before rising to meet her in the kitchen.

"Look what you've done," he said from behind her, his voice in her ear. She shivered, turning to face him.

"It...it's your fault," she stammered.

"Is it? Hmm." He was close, far too close, and all she could think to do was scoop a handful of flour and flick it onto his dress shirt.

For a moment, he was silent, before reaching over her shoulder, now almost pressing against her, to grab a handful of flour before throwing it in her face.

 _"Oh, you're getting it now,"_ she shouted before throwing more at him. The kitchen was now a dust bowl of white flour as they chased each other before Christine moved a bit too quickly across the floor and began to fall into him. He stumbled with the weight of her against him, and he fell too, bringing her down to the ground with him. His long, sinewy body was now completely weighing down on her, pressing every piece of him against every piece of her, and she held her breath, looking into his shocked amber eyes. He made no move to get off of her, and she did nothing to push him off. They lay there for several excruciating moments before his breath fanned across her lips, warm, and she shut her eyes, waiting for what she could no longer deny herself.

He denied her instead, rising from the ground. She opened her eyes to see his hand held out to her, and she accepted it, her cheeks now far too flushed to hide her reaction. She hoped he would take it as embarrassment rather than desire, as she was not ready for him to realize what she had just wanted him to do, what she had wordlessly _asked him_ for by closing her eyes. 

He retreated from the kitchen without a word, ascending up the spiral staircase to his room, and she was left to finish baking and decorating the cookies alone. She eventually began to fill the silence with her own voice, singing her favorite Christmas song softly.

 _"Merry Christmas, darling…"_ her clear voice rang out perfectly like a bell, and she could hear Erik's door immediately open, though he never left the room. She knew he simply wanted to listen to her, and the knowledge of that only caused her to sing a bit more sweetly.

When the cookies were finished, she decorated the penthouse with the items he had purchased, and eventually began to prepare dinner. For the past week or so, Erik had allowed her to take control of the kitchen, and though her pasta paled in comparison to his, she enjoyed being able to fend for herself. It felt less odd than having him cook for her and not eat anything himself. She was concerned that Erik didn't eat enough, his form thin but thankfully not sickly. She assumed he primarily ate when she was sleeping, likely finding difficulty eating with the mask and saving his meals for when he was alone. Still, a part of her worried that a lack of self-care was a component, too, as she knew Erik regularly denied himself other basic needs like sleep. After she ate, she poured two glasses of wine and called for Erik. He met her in the kitchen, and she held out her plate of cookies proudly.

"What do you think? I made the one in the middle just for you," she grinned. He looked at the center cookie, a red heart that had _"Do you like Christmas yet?"_ penned in sloppy frosting.

"You are something, Christine Daae," he chuckled, taking the plate and setting it down on the coffee table in the living area. From the kitchen, he pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring them both a glass and settling next to her on the couch. "I'm assuming you are going to make me watch a Christmas film tonight, so I thought I'd numb the pain a bit," he said dryly, and she laughed.

"Don't be dramatic, Erik. It's just Christmas cookies and a movie. You'll live." She patted his upper arm before drinking from her glass and selecting a movie. She decided to watch _A Christmas Carol,_ wanting to abstain from anything romantic. _Love, Actually_ was truly her favorite, but after the literal romantic comedy scene enacted on the kitchen floor several hours previously, she thought it might be a bit awkward for the both of them. The wine was divine, and she found herself requesting more. Each time, Erik refilled his glass, matching her pace. By the end of the film, his movements were rather languid, his speech patterns a bit off. She decided his slight lack of a filter provided her with a prime opportunity to learn more about him.

"Erik, will you tell me a bit more about your life?" she asked gently.

"I do not know why you would want to hear such a story, my dear. It would only bring you down." He looked down into his lap, his hand loosely holding his wine glass.

She bravely raised a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at her. She hoped he would not remember the tender action in the morning, but when she looked into his amber eyes, the depth of his affection evident in them, she knew this moment would likely not be forgotten.

"What do you wish to know?"

"Everything. Anything. Anything you will tell me."

"Very well. I will tell you...I will tell you some of the less demonizing things first, I suppose. I will tell you of my childhood," he started, and she moved a bit, leaning into him, as if he were about to whisper secrets in his ears.

The story of Erik's childhood was not an easy one to listen to. He was born in France to a very young mother. His mother had horribly abused him, though even he did not seem to understand that. When Christine pointed this out, he simply replied that he understood his mother's hatred for him. She had wanted nothing more than a perfect child and was given the exact opposite. Some parents received fussy, disobedient children, children that could still be changed. Madeleine received a child with a face doctors could not fix, a face that caused his father to leave and therefore caused his mother to resent him for the rest of her days. She passed away when Erik was twelve, and he ended the story there, not explaining where he ran off to after that or how she survived. 

Christine still knew so little, twelve years such a small portion of Erik's life, but she was immensely grateful for the information he had entrusted her with nonetheless. 

"Is that why you hate Christmas? Because you never really had a family?" She asked.

"Indeed. But...but we did celebrate Christmas once. When I was five, my grandparents visited for Christmas dinner, so my mother had no choice but to explain the meaning of the tree to me. She shoved me in my room while they ate, and I could hear her tell them I was with my father. She hid me from them, when maybe...maybe they could've helped me," he spoke.

She hardly realized now that she was running her hand up and down his arm, but it was painfully obvious to him. The haze the wine caused eased him of his usual tension, though, and he relaxed into her touch as much as he was able to, shutting his eyes as he continued. "You know, Christine...I asked her for a gift...one that would not cost money, would not cost her anything but a shred of kindness and decency for her son…"

"And what was that, darling?" Christine said, the term of endearment escaping from her lips before she was able to stop it. She placed her fingers over her mouth in surprise, and this motion was not noticed by him, his eyes still shut.

He somehow did not notice the endearment she used either, her words not registering in his mind as he tried to find his own. "I asked her...for a kiss. Just a kiss, Christine, on my forehead…" he slurred, placing his finger in the center of his forehead to gesture. "Just so I could know for a moment...what love...what love felt like…" His eyes were now fluttering as though he was attempting to open them but couldn't, and Christine reached blindly for a blanket hanging off the arm of the couch. She sloppily pulled it over him, and when his breathing grew deeper, she took the liberty of stroking a hand across the unmasked side of his face, her mind far too fuzzy to stop herself. She felt the softness of his skin with slight wrinkles here and there, and for the first time she was able to guess his age…late thirties, perhaps? His skin was still smooth in most places, and it took a significant amount of effort to remove her hand from his cheek. She looked at him for a few more moments, the thought of how handsome that side of his face was occupying her mind before she eventually slipped back into her room, collapsing on her bed.

 **A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who left a kind review or showed their support for me on Tumblr. You have no idea how much it means to me. Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing, and helping me stay sane through various frustrations with this fic :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It was Christmas day and Christine had the perfect gift for Erik.

It was something she had thought about all week. After her drunken night with Erik, he had stayed out of the penthouse for the majority of the following day, hiding from her. The time alone provided her with much time to think. Usually, when she was left alone, she thought about mysteries. She thought about Erik's past, about why he had decided to keep her here, or why he had said something odd last Tuesday. She thought about things she did not have answers to.

But today, she thought of an answer instead of a question; an answer she had denied herself for a much longer time than she was willing to admit.

She was falling in love with Erik.

More than that, she was falling in love with Erik, and she wanted to _do_ something about it. She was ready now, and though she knew he felt the same, she had to tread carefully.

There was so much about Erik that was distrusting, broken. She knew if she were to outright admit her feelings, he would probably throw her out on the corner, accusing her of lying so that he would set her free. She had to present her feelings in a way that did not seem like a ploy to get what she wanted. She had to disguise them as...as a gift.

She remembered Erik's story from the previous night, and her mind was made up. On Christmas day, she would give Erik his kiss. She would give him the kindness, the love he deserved, that he had been denied for so long, and although she doubted it would heal him, she hoped it would at least alleviate the pain.

She would take it all from him if she could, drink it from his lips and take the pain away.

The days leading up to Christmas felt entirely too long. She had never been this excited for Christmas in her life, not even when she knew that her papa had purchased her Broadway tickets for a show one year and she to wait until Christmas to discover which one it was. Every moment she spent with Erik felt as though she was a magnet being pulled to him, every fiber in her being begging her to allow herself to press against him once more.

" _Not yet,"_ she would think to herself every time her hand would linger a bit too long on his shoulder, or the side of her body would be a bit too close to his on the couch.

When Christmas day finally arrived, Christine woke before Erik for once, cleaning herself up and putting on a dress. By the time she felt presentable, a bit of makeup applied to her face and her curls tamed, Erik had set an array of wrapped boxes under the tree. 

"Erik," she gasped, taking in the sight of them. "You didn't have to get me anything." 

"Of course I didn't," he replied simply before stepping towards her, placing a warm cup of coffee in her hands, made just the way she liked it. "I _wanted_ to, though."

She beamed at him before setting her coffee down on the side table, not wanting to sip from it when she still had _her_ present to give. She unwrapped the boxes, finding several tasteful clothing pieces, a book of sheet music for her favorite musical, and a special copy of _Pride and Prejudice,_ the cover decorated with ornate gold paint.

"You shouldn't have, Erik," she breathed in wonder. 

"I will do as I please," he retorted, the corner of his lip tugging up defiantly.

She set all of her gifts on the coffee table, careful to make sure every garment was folded perfectly. She stood from the ground, taking a deep breath, finding her hands shaking slightly.

"Christine?" he whispered, his voice laced with concern.

She swallowed deeply before raising her chin, asserting her confidence. She was not afraid. She was not afraid…

"I have a present for you, Erik. It's...it's not much. It's not nearly as much as you deserve, but I'm hoping you'll appreciate it, and I'm hoping it'll show you how much I…" she stopped herself, choosing her words carefully. "How much I appreciate you," she finished. "And how valued and worthy you are," she added.

He was confused by her speech, wondering why she was speaking so profoundly at nine in the morning. She sat down next to him on the couch, perhaps a little too closely.

"Please close your eyes," she asked gently.

He obliged hesitantly, nervous to give up his sight, to give up _control,_ but he wanted to trust her. He so desperately wanted to trust her.

She took one last deep breath before moving in and placing her lips on his.

Erik pulled away the moment her lips touched his, eyes frantic. _"Christine."_ he rasped.

"I'm - I'm so sorry, Erik, I thought you'd - " she was not able to complete her sentence before he swiftly moved in, pressing his lips fiercely against hers, their teeth clicking. She tangled her hands in his hair, finding it oddly soft, almost feeling...artificial? She did not think about it for long, though, because he opened his mouth, letting his tongue gently trace her lip, and she opened hers, granting him entry. She moved against him desperately, their ragged breathing and lips meeting the only sound filling the room as he pulled her tight against him, arms entwined around her waist. She had found her way onto his lap somehow, her chest now pressed completely against his, and he could feel her gasping for air. She could not bring herself to stop long enough to breathe, though, her pace frenzied as she sought out more of his mouth, more of his caresses, more of her lips explored by his tongue and more of her body touched by his hands, _more._

He held her hand as she cupped both his soft cheek and the hard porcelain of the mask, guiding her left hand to budge the mask slightly, exposing more of his mouth. She noted how his thin lips seemed to become larger at the left corner where his mask had been, almost as if they were bloated, and she found she liked the variation in texture, sucking on the inflamed portion. His tongue mingled with hers and she felt a certain hardness press against her just where she wanted it, and when she gave out a helpless moan, he abruptly pulled away, rising from the couch and crossing to the other side of the room. He faced away from her, adjusting his pants and smoothing out his shirt. When he looked back, she was still breathing heavily, her lips plump and swollen and he could hardly stand the sight of them.

"Erik, I -"

"Enough. You do not...you do not have to give me more than you have given me. You do not have to lie. This is more than enough to last me a _lifetime,_ Christine. This is more than I ever would have expected from you, more than I ever would have asked," he choked out, blinking back tears - of gratitude, of sorrow, of longing, neither of them were sure.

She nodded her head weakly, wanting to protest but knowing he would not believe her, not yet. She would have to convince him of her love in other ways, more subtle ways, slowly feeding the idea into his mind until one day her confession made more sense. She stood up from the couch, meeting him at the end of the room. She knew this was likely too much for him in one morning, but she could not bring herself to care, not when his eyes were with shining with tears and his posture was slightly hunched in that way that made him look so vulnerable, it shattered her into pieces. She put her hand on his unmasked cheek once more, pulling him down slightly, and she stood on her toes to reach him. She pressed her lips on his forehead softly, before wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear. " _That one is to save for later."_

He let out a quiet sob, and they held each other until Christine could no longer keep steady on her toes.

 **A/N: Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing :) and obviously, a huge thank you to everyone that left a kind review. You guys don't know how much your enthusiasm and support helps me. Thank you 3**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Erik and Christine spent the remainder of Christmas morning lounging about leisurely, Christine reading her new copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , and Erik feigning interest in his own novel he'd pulled from his bookshelf. He truly had no intention to read it, only wanted an excuse to remain in close quarters with her, and he did just that, sitting a few inches from her on the couch. Christine shifted uncomfortably several times, her constant energy never allowing her to sit in the same position for long, and she sometimes found herself leaning against Erik, her shoulder and arm lined up against his.

Those were the moments Erik was in bliss.

The moments she leaned against the left arm of the couch, spreading her legs, her foot just barely touching his thigh, however, were torment for him. He nearly had the audacity to suggest she prop herself up against _him_ and stretch her legs in the other direction, but he knew this was far too bold, even after their kiss.

Their kiss. They had kissed. Christine had kissed Erik, and he had never thought it possible, not even as he sat there trying to remember every detail of her soft lips against his partially thin, partially mangled ones. It was almost as though he had finally succumbed to his madness, hallucinating so vividly that it seemed like a real moment in time; a genuine memory.

But it had been real, and she had kissed him, and she did not run afterwards. Instead, she read her book in a comfortable position beside him, seeming completely unbothered by his presence. Perhaps even content to be in his company.

He couldn't begin to wrap his head around it, and found himself in need of fresh air.

He couldn't bring himself to be parted from Christine for a single moment after what happened, though, and suggested they see what establishments were open for dinner in the city. She eagerly agreed, excited to utilize this as an opportunity to wear one of the new dresses he had purchased for her, and immediately rushed into her room with it, shutting the door loudly behind her.

He cleaned himself up a bit while waiting for her, though there was not much to fix; his appearance was always perfectly maintained, not one stray hair out of sight or one clump of lint on his suit. He felt had so little to offer with his face and body that he had to make up for what he lacked by constantly being impeccably dressed. Running a comb through his wig one last time, he heard Christine retreat from her room several steps down the hall, the clicking of her short black heels coming closer. She knocked on the door of the guest bathroom.

"I'm ready when you are!" She announced, her voice contagiously cheerful. He was alarmed by the sight of a smile on his lips in the corner of his eye in the mirror, and it faded immediately. He cleared his throat, straightening his jacket once more before exiting the bathroom.

The sight of her nearly caused him to immediately retreat back into it like a scared schoolboy. She was breathtaking, the wine red dress a beautiful contrast against her ivory skin, her deep brown hair and the shining blue of her eyes.

"Christine," he croaked, and she seemed to rock on her heels expectantly. He opened his mouth, but closed it, unable to find the right words, and she raised an eyebrow. Several moments passed before he was able to come up with a response. "You look...you look well,"he stammered.

Well? She looked _well?_ That was the best he could come up with? Dear god, it was almost as though his social skills had _worsened_ since their first meeting when he told her he found her voice to be "sufficient." He groaned inwardly, but his dread was alleviated when she simply gave a light laugh in response.

 _How things have changed,_ he thought to himself. The first time they met, she was so appalled by his atrocious social skills. Now, she simply laughs.

It was certainly an improvement.

Dinner was splendid, the pair surprised to find such a fine establishment open on a holiday. Specializing in Italian cuisine, they ate pasta - Christine's favorite, of course - and shared a bottle of champagne. Erik's tolerance for alcohol had clearly decreased over the years, finding himself oddly sleepy by the time they returned to his home. He sat with her on the couch as she put on some Christmas film - what film, he was too tired to even notice - and his eyes shut against his will after no more than five minutes.

Christine was shocked to see Erik asleep, the sight nearly startling. He looked far too _relaxed,_ and she suspected that he rarely slept this contentedly, if he ever slept at all. The champagne had clearly dulled his mind enough that he was able to find a bit of peace. She smiled at this, pleased that he, for once, was not tortured by his own thoughts the way that she suspected he often was. She grabbed a nearby folded blanket, placing it over him and leaving the living room.

She knew it was wrong to see this as an opportunity to explore again, but she could not help herself. There was one room in the penthouse she had yet to see: Erik's study. He had previously explained that it was simply lined with important files regarding his architecture projects, nothing more, but she wondered if she could find documentation of what sort of threats he had made as the Phantom. Sure, it hardly mattered now, as he had frequently hinted at giving up the role of the Phantom, and she assumed it was true as he rarely went to the opera house these days, but her curiosity once again overruled the more rational parts of her that warned her not to betray his trust when it was so difficult to gain.

The room was not locked, surprisingly, and she supposed Erik had not bothered to lock it when he was always around her and would see her enter it. She pushed the door open quietly as possible, finding a humble space filled only with a desk and two bookshelves: one lined with several classic novels, and others on history, poetry, and obviously music, and another with files, as he had previously mentioned. His desk had several papers littering it, some of which were music sheets with multiple bars scratched over or crossed out, some of the papers even crumpled up into balls. The trashcan on the floor was already filled to the brim with balled up parchment. She sifted through some of the papers on the desk, finding nothing of interest.

The files on the wall were exactly as he had previously stated, and she felt guilty for doubting him. There were blueprints, contracts and printed emails, none of which were from the "operaghost" email address, she noted to herself. She wondered if that address was simply for personal use, or even as a joke.

She would likely never understand him, not even the smallest things like his email address choices. She found herself smiling fondly at this thought, shaking her head.

She had always wanted a mystery to keep her occupied, and she had found one she would likely never solve in the form of a man. A genius, surprisingly considerate, astonishingly talented, and admittedly handsome (on the side of his face that was exposed, at least) man. A man that was, from what she could gather, enamored by her. Possibly in love with her.

She could no longer deny to herself that she was able to return those feelings, unequivocally and irreversibly. He had found his way into her heart the same way the mystery of the Phantom had crept into her mind, in a way that she likely should have tried to push away, or at least slow down, but she was unable to stop it from hitting her full force, rendering her incapable of stopping it from consuming her every thought and action.

Her final conquest in the room was a drawer in his desk, and she peeked out the door once more to ensure Erik was still asleep on the couch in the living room, blissfully unaware of her shameful snooping in his champagne coma.

He was still in the same stiff, yet seemingly comfortable enough position, his back straight and his head in his hand, his elbow on the arm of the couch. Despite his dark appearance, his black clothes or sharp eyebrows or perfectly slicked back hair, something about him looked so gentle, and it nearly stopped her from continuing her search. Nearly, but it did not.

She opened the drawer, finding a file labeled "C." She pulled it out, noticing that the label was different than the others she had seen - all of his architectural projects were labeled with the title of the building or company, never a single letter. She opened it, finding printed out pages of information about...information about _her?_ Her heart, the very heart that just a few moments ago had swelled in affection for him, the heart that just ten hours ago had raced when she was pressed against him, sank into her stomach; an aching, empty feeling overcoming her, as she felt all what had been built over this six weeks being drained from her.

There were photos, photos of her from _before_ he had met her; just a few, all taken on the same day, when she had gone to visit Meg in the ballet. She was dressed in the only nice dress she owned at the time, the same one she wore for her interview with the opera house.

The first photo was of her smiling backstage with Meg. The next was taken several hours later, a mile away from the opera house, at a karaoke bar Meg and the ballet corps had gone to. Christine had drank far too much rum and coke, so much that she was easily convinced to go on stage despite her insecurity about her voice.

Somewhere in the shadows, Erik had been there. He had been there, and their first meeting was not their first, simply the only one she had known of.

She was livid.

The part of her that had been dominant in recent weeks that always sought to see Erik's side of the story, always empathized with him and felt his sorrows as deeply as he did, attempted to remind her that he was likely too shy to approach her before or come forward authentically from the very beginning. Still, he had taken photos of her, and why had he thought to do so? What was he hoping to accomplish?

Was he planning to steal her away all along, or was that simply an added bonus when she had provided him with ample opportunity and justification to do so?

She stumbled back a bit, feeling lightheaded, and a pair of long arms caught her from behind. She swung around to see an astonished Erik, the hurt and betrayal in his eyes unable to pierce her as much as they could have had it not been for her discovery.

"You...you stalked me?" She whispered in disbelief.

"Christine, I...I simply wanted to…"

"To what, Erik? To collect photos of me, to collect information? What would you do with it, Erik? Would you find a way to hold it against me the way you manipulate the managers to get what you want? Would you use it to threaten me until...until I come stay with you? Did I even need to discover you were the Phantom and venture to your residence beneath the opera house for you to steal me away?"

"Christine, no - "

"Do not tell me what to think! Not when you have provided me with no truth, no clarity, only tangled metaphors presented through literary analysis and compositions that I can never understand. I don't speak music, Erik, not the way you do, and I'm sure you feel that you've divulged a great amount of personal information to me through your music, but I know nothing at all. I'm sick of the lack of transparency, Erik, I live here. Against my will or not, I hardly know, because like most things, we haven't discussed it, and I know _nothing_ about you!" She was now raising her voice, gesturing heatedly with her hands, the paper in her hand emphasizing her dismay.

"Christine, I simply wanted to... _to remember,_ " he swallowed. "I had never seen such a radiant, incandescent woman, so full of life and love for her friend, and when you left to go to the bar, I decided to follow you, just so I might see more of your light. I'd stopped believing in goodness, Christine, but you were so lovely and I...I took pictures, just in case I never saw you again...I was drawn to you, Christine, like a moth to a flame. When I heard your voice, it was like I had found heaven. I wanted to preserve the memory of what I had seen, what I had _felt_ watching you, so it might remind me when I felt all was lost…" He attempted to explain, but she would not listen, moving through the rest of the papers, most of which were legal documents about her she had no idea how he had obtained.

She looked up at him in disbelief once more. "I don't want your justifications, Erik. I want the truth, from the beginning, and you didn't give it from the beginning. You didn't give it when I first met you, and you've rarely given it in my time here. I have worked so hard to gain your trust when I have no reason to give you mine!" She exclaimed, her anger rising. "I don't even know what you look like underneath that god-damn mask!"

"Christine, do not dare ask of it," he seethed.

"Don't you dare try to tell me what I can and can't ask when I wouldn't be here questioning you if you hadn't trapped me!"

Her words cut like a knife, and the motion of her hand moving towards his face dug deeper. He thought she might slap him, and he anticipated the blow, shutting his eyes.

Instead, his mask was ripped off, and a scream tore through the air - his own or hers, he wasn't sure.

Christine had never seen anything like it.

She could not help but be momentarily alarmed by the sight of his deformity, the raw, red, flesh causing her to briefly wonder if she had ripped his very skin off with the mask. His scream of agony solidified that belief for a moment before she looked closer, seeing no blood, only twisted skin and muscle forming odd dips and ridges in the skin. The wild look in his eyes caused her fear to return, though, and she stepped back, clasping a hand over her mouth to hide her squeak of fear.

"You have tried my patience, my dear," he growled, advancing towards her. She continued to move away from him as he shouted, the words jumbling in her ears as she ran from him, some of them profanities and some of them words indicating his hurt and betrayal and most of all, his _anger_.

She was terrified by it, and so she ran into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind her, sobs immediately escaping her, mingling with the sound of his own down the hall.

 **A/N: Hello there! Sorry it took so long for me to update, it was just a busy week and it honestly slipped my mind. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter, and huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing :) we've got some pain in this chapter, but there's definitely fluff approaching...and after that, we've got some uncharted territory for E/C ;) reviews definitely inspire me to keep going!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Several hours had passed, and Christine had not moved from her sitting position in her bed, two blankets wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

Her eyes were irritated and dry after expending all of their moisture through tears, and her nose was red and raw. She had drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes at a time, always waking immediately to the sound of a scream playing in the back of her mind: Erik's scream of agony when she had torn off his mask.

Now that some time had passed since the incident, Christine deeply regretted removing his mask. She regretted investigating the room, hell, she regretted the investigation she had embarked on that led her to being entrapped her in the first place. Most of all, she resented who she had become since Erik had sparked something in her, something irrational and wild and difficult to control.

Before she had met Erik, she was always calculated and composed; much like Erik himself always attempted to appear. That night at the bar, though, the air of mystery about him that posed so many questions that begged to be answered lit something aflame inside of her, something that had been dormant since her father died: the desire to be adventurous, bold, _passionate_. In the beginning, that desire had presented itself in her endeavors to learn more about the Phantom and potentially prompt the breakout of her journalism career with an expose. It would've been an audacious article, exactly the kind to gain traction and put her on the map, and she had never been so fearless in her life than in her attempts to put together the pieces needed to write. 

Around the same time, her desire for something more arose as well. All her life, she had convinced herself that she was not good enough for music, that music simply was not in her, and Erik had somehow reversed all of those years of self doubt in a single moment by expressing his confidence in her. Perhaps all she needed all along was the assurance of another individual that she could jump and not fall, and if she did, he would catch her.

Somewhere along the way, that desire had bloomed into desire for him. Not for his mystery, not for his intriguing elusiveness, but for his genius, his talent, his _tenderness_ , both in music and in his interactions with her. She had pushed it away at first, but that spark became a fire that spread far too quickly to be contained, or to even make sense of as the world that had once been so dark burst into flames.

The old Christine never would have betrayed another's trust, even in a moment of anger. She never would have taken away one's security, never would have preyed upon the one thing they needed most...and yet, she did.

Why had she done it?

Perhaps she desired to revoke his safety and comfort the way he had taken away hers, not only through kidnapping her, but through stalking her, keeping photos and documents, all the while keeping her in this apartment as if she were a roommate or friend.

Still, two wrongs did not make a right, and her chest ached with atonement for what she had done. She stepped out of bed, wanting to make amends, but hardly knowing how to do so. She hoped she would figure it out at some point through the journey from her room to his study.

The door was locked, but the lock itself was not as sophisticated as the one on her own door, and she was able to pick it with a bobby pin from her hair. She jiggled the doorknob a few times, twisting the bobby pin inside, before it finally gave way.

The sight she was met with knocked the life out of her. Waves of sorrow, of remorse, of _love_ crashed against her in a harsh tide, and pulled her to him.

He was crouched up against the wall, several liquor bottles littering the floor around him. His wig was askew - which she had not even noticed was a wig until this moment - and his mask still lay on the floor where she had tossed it, a few feet away from a painting in a glass frame that was now shattered. An array of glistening shards of glass were on the floor, some of it far too close to Erik, and if he shifted, she was certain he might injure himself on one. She moved to rouse him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and even in his deep intoxication, he flinched. She ran her hand up and down his shoulder in a soothing motion, but he did not open his eyes, simply slumped against the wall a bit more, losing consciousness.

Somehow, she managed to lift him from the ground, and he walked slowly, his arm around her shoulder, placing most of his weight on her. Thankfully, Christine was rather strong despite her height; she had assisted Meg in lifting set pieces through many of her college productions. She guided him to the bathroom down the hall that he used, settling him down on the marble floor, unsure where else to place him.

His chest, which was partially exposed by his unbuttoned white shirt, his vest and jacket discarded in the other room, was coated in sticky alcohol that must have dribbled down his chin in his drunken haze. He must have drunk until his mouth was hardly able to keep itself open, and she was terrified for him - what if he got alcohol poisoning? She contemplated leaving the apartment and finding help, but he was still somewhat conscious, though his breathing was shallow and labored.

"Erik, you're a little messy. Is it okay if I clean you up a bit?" She said gently, moving a hand to his unaffected cheek to brush a stray strand of his thin, almost gray hair from his face, and he only flinched a bit this time. His head barely moved in response to her, but she could detect the slightest nod.

She began to unbutton the remainder of his white shirt, taking care not to look at his chest for too long. If he was sober, he would not want her staring at him, even if she was staring with admiration for his smooth, marble-like skin. Once she was four buttons down, the smoothness faded into rough, jagged lines, scars painting his ribs and back. One long, angry, red scar extended from the top of his ribs to his naval, and she traced a finger over it lightly, feeling the raised skin.

The version of herself that had acted out a few hours ago, or even the version of herself that had investigated him, would have wished in this moment that she could ask Erik the story behind this scar. But that version of herself was left behind in his study. Now, all she wanted was to bring her lips to every scar and kiss every single one until he had forgotten how they appeared there.

Unbuttoning and removing his pants was an awkward affair. Thankfully, Erik was not the type to omit wearing drawers underneath, and she was able to pull the long, black pants from his legs without much difficulty. His legs were much thinner than she had expected, with almost no hair, which she noticed was sparse throughout his body - though she knew she should not have even been looking there, she _had_ noticed there was no hair below his navel, and there was obviously little on his head. She wondered if this was a complication of his deformity or even due to a lack of a nutritious diet, but she only wondered briefly, her curiosity not dominating her thoughts.

Cautiously, she guided Erik into his bathtub, turning on the warm water. She'd kept his boxers on, which went down to the middle of his thigh, thankfully preserving his privacy enough to keep both of them comfortable - Christine more than Erik, though, as he was hardly conscious enough to decipher what was occuring in that moment.

Once the bath was filled, Christine used the soap sitting on the edge of the bath to run across his body, and she noticed him let a shudder loose at the feeling first, before relaxing against the back of the bath. As she ran her hands across his shoulders and below his neck, cleansing all of the areas which his liquor had coated, she saw a hint of a content smile on his deformed lips. She took a few moments to knead her knuckles into the tight muscles of his shoulder blades, easing any of his usual tension that remained in his body in spite of the intoxication.

She did not venture below his upper chest, knowing that his stomach was mostly clear of residue, and pulled him out of the bath the minute he was clean. Now, all she had to do was figure out where to put him.

She knew he could not manage going up the stairs to his own room, and she did not want him on the couch where he could easily roll off, so she brought him to her room, laying him down on the bed.

"No, Christine, darling, this is _your_ room...I do not belong here…" he slurred.

She smiled, gently placing a hand on his deformed cheek. He jerked awake at the feeling, but his golden eyes were still hazy, the alarm he felt not being enough to break through the clouds of his intoxication. He leaned into her touch, and she stroked the ridges and dips of twisted muscle with her thumb. "Shh," she soothed. "It's okay. You can sleep here tonight. Can you tell me where I can find some night clothes for you?"

"Don't...have any...don't sleep much…" he mumbled into her hand.

She sighed. "Alright, well...I'll just find the most comfortable thing you own, then." She removed her hand from his and rose from the bed, but he caught her wrist, almost too quickly for a drunk man.

"Christine," he pleaded. "Don't...don't leave me. Please. I know you don't...want to be here...but I _want_ you...I want you here...please, love," he croaked.

She knew he hardly had any idea what he was saying, the profuse amount of alcohol he had consumed poisoning his mind. She leaned down, pressing her lips to his forehead. "I'll be right back," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

"No, you won't," he mumbled bitterly, hiding his face in the pillow as she left the room.

She returned a few minutes later with a loose fitting black shirt and no pants, unable to find anything other than black slacks. He opened his eyes at the sound of her entering the room, and his eyes were glistening.

"You came back…" he whispered, mesmerized.

She would have laughed if this were a normal moment between them, one of those moments where his odd gratitude for the simplest gestures of friendship and kindness baffled him, but it was not so endearing now. It was just heartbreaking, and she knew that by unmasking him, she had done nothing but solidify his belief that he could not trust in good things or good people, or think he was worthy of them.

She sat down on the edge of the bed wordlessly, pulling the shirt over his head and placing her hands on his now clothed chest to push him back down in a lying position. He resisted, wanting to be closer to her, propping himself up on one arm.

"Christine...earlier, did you...did you kiss me again?" He asked, his words hard to make out. He placed one trembling finger on his forehead. "Right here?" 

"I've kissed you a few times today, Erik," she replied softly. 

He nodded, seeming to contemplate this. "What an odd, lovely dream," he murmured before falling back against her pillow again, shutting his eyes.

She wanted to assure him it was not a dream, but for some reason, she did not feel able to do so, almost unable to accept that it was real herself. She wanted to pretend this had all been some nightmare, and their day had left off falling asleep on the couch in the living room after they exchanged gifts...after she had kissed them, after they had exchanged intimacy, exchanged trust and...and _love_ …

At this thought, she turned the lamp off, slipping out of the room into the shadows.

 **A/N: Don't worry guys, we have plenty of fluff approaching (and a particularly exciting chapter after that!) Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed the last chapter. If you liked this one, please do let me know, because I feel like I may have lost some readers and I'm worried that people are becoming bored :( I hope you all are having a wonderful week! Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing, and madiamazing and phantom-triumphant for emotional support :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Christine awoke to another agonizing scream, rising up off the couch onto her feet immediately.

She found Erik thrashing about in her bed, sweat beading on his unmasked face, mingling with tears rolling down his cheeks.

He was whimpering something in his sleep, the words undetectable, and she approached him carefully, knowing he would likely act out in defense at even the gentlest of touches. She decided to try to reach him with her voice first.

She spoke his name several times, but he did not respond, still shaking under the covers. An idea arose in her mind.

" _Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…"_ She sang the words he had once sung to her, letting her voice carry through the room in a gentle lullaby.

He seemed to calm immediately at the sound of her voice, his shaking subsiding and his lips no longer trembling. His hands unclenched from the fisted position they had been in, and she placed hers inside them carefully as she continued to sing.

Once he had fully relaxed, she began to let go, but he protested anxiously.

 _"No, please, my angel…"_

His angel? She wondered what kind of hallucinations he was having now, and once again contemplated calling an ambulance. If she could just find her phone; it was probably in his room...

 _"Please, angel...Christine…"_

Hearing her own name calmed her worries slightly, knowing he at least was aware of some pieces of reality. Sighing in relief, she slipped under the covers next to him, trying not to be too bewildered by the present situation.

Six weeks ago, she had detested the very thought of him, the ever present reality that he had stolen her freedom haunting her. Now, she relented her freedom to him - knowing in this moment she could easily escape the penthouse and not even contemplating this possibility. She gave this chance, this opportunity, this moment to him. She gave her freedom to him; she gave it all to him, hoping that perhaps when he woke and no longer needed her so terribly, he would give it all back to her.

They stayed a few inches apart from each other in the bed, respecting each other's personal space. The gap between them felt both empty and heavy at the same time, though, like a deep cavern with a tightrope across it, pulling them taut but leaving an empty chasm beneath them. She wanted to close the distance, but not now, not like this. Not when Erik was still delirious.

This plan did not work, though, because by morning, she found her limbs tangled with his, his arms wrapped protectively around her waist, his face buried in her bosom.

Warmth immediately flooded her senses when she woke, the surprising heat of his normally cold body radiating off of him, seeping into her bones. More warmth filled her as blood rushed to her cheeks at the intimate position they had found themselves in. Erik seemed relaxed in his slumber now, his facial expressions no longer hinting at anxiety or delusion, and she had hoped the worst of the effects of the alcohol had faded. She shifted in his arms, trying to free herself, and he groaned, holding onto her tighter. She had never heard such a natural, such a human sound escape him, and it all felt too strange to contemplate.

Sighing in resignation, she shut her eyes, willing herself to fall back asleep.

The next time she roused, Erik was not in her bed. She could not ignore the feeling of disappointment that flooded her when she noticed the absence of his arms around her, and she slipped out of bed to find him. He was now sitting in the living room, his head in his hands, a large water bottle and box of Ibuprofen on the side table next to him.

"Feeling any better?" She spoke gently, and his head snapped up so quickly she feared he would hurt his neck.

He rubbed his temples, inhaling deeply. "It could be worse," he replied.

" _Has_ it ever been worse?"

His eyes flashed open, gold shifting into fire, the expression she often recognized as his defensiveness flaring. "What does it matter to you?"

She took offense at this for a moment before realizing: he did not remember anything.

"Erik, what do you remember from last night?"

"Do you truly wish to torment me by prompting me to relive the memory which led me to this state?"

Normally, she would be withholding the urge to roll her eyes at a statement like this, Erik's melodrama never failing to exasperate her. This time, though, his words pierced her, and she ached for him deeply. "Erik, I took care of you last night. Not to mention, I'm still here. I just...want you to think about that, okay?" She said before turning to leave the room.

"Christine, wait."

She faced him once again, the fire in his amber eyes extinguished. They were only filled with sorrow now. "I'm sorry, Christine. For all that I've put you through."

She chose her response carefully. "And I you," she finally replied.

The following days passed with progressively more awkwardness. Every day apart caused an intangible feeling of weight on her chest, of air too thick between them. Every morning she woke to find him missing, every night she retreated to her room without a "good night," left her feeling as though she was suffocating from the silence.

Christine knew Erik was likely avoiding her. She wanted to give him time to heal, but it hurt her to have him escape her so often, and she now almost understood how he must have felt in her initial days with him.

Erik began preparing meals for her in advance, leaving them in the refrigerator for her to heat up. She suspected he was going to the opera house, especially considering he often did not return until late at night.

She tried not to ponder the possibilities of what he could be doing there so late. She did not want to believe he had resumed his activities as the Phantom, but perhaps her betrayal had permanently turned him…

She tried to fill the time with films, books, even baking in his kitchen. Nothing aided in distracting her from her constant worry for him.

On the sixth night after she unmasked him, she waited for him in the living room until the clock read 3:00 AM. She was not sure why he had left her bedroom door unlocked in his absence, as she had no reason to need to venture outside of it, and she assumed he trusted her not to leave.

Little did he know, she was not here on means of trust. She was here because she wanted to be here, she wanted to be around him, and he clearly did not feel the same way this week.

When she had begun to drift off on the couch, she heard the front door unlock, Erik silently walking through it. It always amazed her how quiet he could be, as though he didn't have footsteps. She supposed his stealth had rooted from years of evasiveness as the Phantom, and this realization caused her to feel her heart sink to the pit of her stomach, once again realizing that he'd likely gone back to crime.

"Christine? Why are you not sleeping?" He asked, and she almost smiled at the way the question was worded. He did not ask her why she was out of her room; he asked her why she was not sleeping - he no longer prioritized her obedience, but her health and comfort.

Then again, she supposed he had never been so strict - not while she was here, anyway. The lock was the only thing he had enforced with much conviction, otherwise, the only time in their relationship he had ever held any power over her was when he was her teacher. The moment he had taken her away and taken her own personal freedom and power, though, he had become gentle, tender, almost as if he had realized his mistake.

So much had changed.

"Christine?" He asked again.

"I was waiting for you," she replied simply.

"Why on earth would you ever do that?"

"I missed you."

"Are you well?"

She scoffed. "You know what? No, I'm not. You bring me here against my will, and the minute I _want_ to be here, the minute I want to be around you, you disappear."

"Do not mock me, _dear,_ " he bit.

"I'm not mocking you, Erik, Jesus Christ! If you'd just spend some time around me like you used to, you'd realize that I don't hate you, despite how our last conversation went…"

The stiffness left his body, his shoulders slumping, betraying his normally elegant pretense.

"How can you not hate me?" He said so quietly, she would not have heard him had she not been so attuned to him.

She rose from the couch, meeting him in the center of the living room and placing her hand on his unmasked cheek. He immediately took it in his, removing it.

"How can you bear to touch me? Look at me? I stole your freedom, Christine. I don't know why you are even here."

She brought her hand to his face once more. "I do."

He looked up, his golden eyes shimmering with a mix of hope and fear. "Christine…"

"You don't have to explain yourself, Erik. For once, you don't. I know I've pushed you to in the past, but I can surmise enough on my own to spare you the discomfort of explaining yourself or justifying yourself...I know life has been so, so unfair to you, and I know you likely didn't think you had any choice but to do what you did to me. Not only to protect yourself and your identity, but maybe, subconsciously, you thought it was the only way to be with me."

"Christine - "

She placed a finger on his lips, and he nearly squeaked at the action. "I don't think your actions are excused. But they are forgiven, so long as you understand now that I am not here because you keep me here. I'm here because I have kept myself here, and this is where I want to be right now, until I figure things out."

He nodded his head, not sure of how to express his understanding in words.

"I don't hate you, Erik...and I don't know how to approach this subject without garnering your disbelief, so I suppose I have to approach it slowly and carefully, little by little...but my feelings are quite the opposite."

Erik felt as though he could faint. He swayed on his feet a bit, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. "Look at you, the formidable Phantom, stumbling on your feet because I said I didn't hate you," she quipped.

"You did not say you do not hate me, Christine, you said you felt the _opposite_ ," he choked, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"We don't have to focus on word choice right now. There are other ways I can express this," she whispered, unsure of where or how she had gained the confidence to be so bold.

His eyebrows were raised now, eyes wide open as she moved into him. Her lips touched his gently once more, and this time, he responded immediately, gathering her in his arms and opening his mouth to welcome her. They savored the feeling and taste of each other, taking their time, fully exploring each other. She placed her hands in his wig, moving them down his face, grasping the edge of his mask with one. He pulled away, looking deeply into her eyes, his amber ones burning with something different than the fury they often had when she had gone too far, asked too much. He allowed her to pull off his mask slowly, his hand guiding hers, and she set it gently on the side table by the couch before returning to him, wrapping her arms around his neck to crash his lips down against hers once again. At some point, they moved to the couch, their pace alternating between frenzy and tenderness, the waves of passion ebbing and flowing, bringing forth delicacy and ecstasy, touches as gentle as a breeze and as heated as fire. Minutes passed before they came up for air, still holding each other. They spent a significant amount of time like that in comfortable silence before Erik pulled Christine up in his arms the way he had always suspected - or at least hoped - she secretly loved, carrying her to her bed and pulling the covers around her. He kissed her cheek, then placed his lips to her ears.

"Thank you for caring for me that one night," he whispered before placing a final kiss to her forehead, the gesture making it clear to her:

He remembered everything.

Her heart swelled, warmth flooding her body as each pounding beat of her heart seemed to now loudly proclaim what she knew was true:

 _I love you, I love you, I love you._

The confession pumped through her veins, no longer hiding within the beats of her heart, no longer escaping only through whispers or murmurs; it was now racing through her, threatening to burst if she did not proclaim it immediately.

But Erik had left the room and shut the door, and she could not find the courage to follow him. She slept restlessly instead, the ghost feeling of his lips on her cheek, her ear, her forehead, her mouth, soothing her and stirring her all at once.

 **A/N: Hello friends! I'm so sorry it took so long to update this, I've been a mess. I actually finished writing this fic last night, so it is complete and all the remaining chapters are good to go, I guess it's just a matter of having the self confidence to post them. I've struggled a lot with this fic, but hopefully I'll be regularly updating from now on :) I hope you guys are having a wonderful week! Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing, as well as my friend Grace (phantom-triumphant) for her undying enthusiasm for this fic and madiamazing for keeping my head straight.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The following afternoon Christine woke to an empty penthouse once again. This time, however, Erik had taken enough care to leave a note.

 _ **Dearest, loveliest Christine -**_

 _ **I apologize for leaving you again, but, as it has several times this week, the urge to compose presented itself, and I could not deny it, so I have made a trip back to my lair beneath the opera house where I keep most of my instruments. I would have taken you with me and allowed you to lounge about in the parlor there if you had not been sleeping; not to mention, there would likely be complications if you were seen near the opera house.**_

 _ **Speaking of, Christine, I want you to know, I will not be returning until late today. I am providing you ample time, if you wish it, to seize this opportunity: enclosed in an envelope on the piano is enough funds for you to take a taxi back to Madame Giry, as well as to support yourself for a few weeks before you can find employment again, should the opera house not allow you back preceding your absence. Your cell phone is next to it, charged and ready to be used. The bill for it has been paid for the past two months.**_

 _ **Whether or not you claim you want to be here now, I stole your freedom, Christine, for my own selfish gain - regardless of the fact that it was out of both fear and love, your freedom, your life, was not mine to take. Your love is not, either.**_

 _ **I cannot help but greedily hope you will give it, anyway, but please know, dearest angel, you are in no way obligated to give me any love, or more than you are comfortable with. If you want to leave this place and still remain in contact with me, I would be the luckiest man on earth. If you want to leave this place and never speak to me again, still, I would be so fortunate as to have shared so many moments with you.**_

 _ **The choice is yours, Christine, and no matter what you choose, please know that you will always have a choice from this day forward, no matter where you live or who you love.**_

 _ **And, since it is much easier to confess on paper than it is in person:**_

 _ **I love you. You are my entire soul, you have saved me, and I love you.**_

 _ **I am forever indebted to you, Christine. If there is anything more you require if or when you choose to leave, please do let me know. You have my rather ridiculous email address.**_

 _ **All my love,**_

 _ **\- E**_

The paper was now soaked in tears, black ink smudging into stains. She immediately folded it, putting it into her pocket to avoid further damage.

She wished Erik would return home this moment and mused this aloud.

At the realization of her word choice, though, she placed a finger to her lips in surprise.

Home.

There was her answer. There was her choice.

She was home, and she was where she wanted to be. It was not where she ever envisioned ending up, no, but it was where she belonged. She was with music, with mystery, with all of the things she loved - Erik included. She exited his penthouse immediately, a $20 bill in her hand for a taxi, departing for the opera house. Her phone was now in her pocket, but she had not even thought of turning it on to look at all her missed calls, messages and emails from the past two months. None of that mattered to her now.

All that mattered was finding Erik and telling him she loved him.

When she arrived, she used the back entrance, hoping this would allow her to avoid most of the employees, performers and patrons. To her dismay, the first face she stumbled upon was a face she had long forgotten - a particularly boyish, admittedly handsome, undeniably kind one.

Raoul.

"Christine," he gasped when he saw her, rushing to her side.

"Hey?" She said, unsure of how to react.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? Where have you been? How did you get here?" He asked frantically.

"I'm fine, Raoul, no - really, don't give me that look - I'm _fine,_ " she assured him.

"Christine, you have been missing for _weeks_. Madame Giry insisted we give it a bit more time before we involve the police. She suspected you'd run off with some man and wanted to respect the privacy of both of you, but I knew it couldn't be true...you would _never,_ Christine."

She supposed he was right. She would never _willingly_ run off with someone without a word, without a plan.

But she would willingly stay, especially if that someone was Erik.

She sighed deeply before responding, hoping she would be able to satisfy him with her response enough that he would leave her alone so she could find Erik. "I did, Raoul. I met someone and...I got swept away, I guess." She tried not to laugh at the irony of her word choice, but a giggle almost came out.

Raoul looked at her like she was insane, his eyes wide, head tilting slightly.

"It's fine, Raoul, seriously. In fact, I'm trying to find him right now, so if you'll excuse me - "

"He's _here?_ "

"Yes, Raoul, this is where I met him," she replied without thinking.

Realization lit up in his eyes.

Oh no.

"Khan was right," he whispered to himself, astonished.

"Mr. Khan? You know Mr. Khan?"

"Barely. He contacted _me_ about you. He said Madame Giry didn't want to report you missing to the police, but wanted him to look into things nonetheless. He immediately contacted me to see if I knew anything, but it seemed like he already had the answers."

Christine raised an eyebrow.

"He said he suspected you ran off with your vocal instructor, who, might I add, is _much_ older than you - "

"I'm twenty-two, Raoul, I'm not a child!"

"...and is known for manipulating people."

She couldn't argue with that, she supposed. He _had_ manipulated the managers in his role as the Phantom, but he was not like that now.

"I went of my own volition, Raoul. I don't know how to convince you otherwise, nor do I need to," she declared before pushing him out of her way.

He gaped at her as she continued down the hall until she turned a corner, going out of sight.

She reached the dressing room where she had once found the entrance to Erik's lair, pushing the wall in the way she had so many weeks ago. It had been nearly two months now since she had walked through this mirror, and she could hardly stand another second away from Erik, his letter still in her pocket.

As she ventured through the caverns, though, she realized there was one thing she had forgotten in her haste: the lake.

"Oh, shit," she muttered.

As if he had sensed her approaching and immediately departed to find her, she saw his boat rowing down the lake at that very moment, his tall figure standing at the foot of it.

She stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Eventually, she gave an embarrassed wave.

The minute the boat reached the shore, he hurried to where she stood.

"Christine, what are you doing here _again?_ There are traps, you could have been hurt -"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just...I couldn't wait to see you," she admittedly sheepishly.

He gave out a helpless chuckle, pulling his arms around her. "You impulsive, wild girl. What am I ever going to do with you?"

Those were adjectives that had never once been assigned to her in her life until this moment, and she almost wondered if Raoul had been right to look at her as though she was mad earlier. If this was madness, though, then she did not want to be sane. She wrapped her arms around his waist, returning his embrace. She made certain to press the full line of her body against his, leaving no distance, no room in between them for misinterpretation or any question of what she wanted, of what they _needed_ in that moment. "You could take me home," she looked up at him, her eyes blue eyes sparkling.

" _Christine,"_ he choked.

He had never departed from the caverns beneath the opera house so quickly.

 **A/N: Just a heads up - the rating will go up to M in the next chapter (if I find the courage to publish it.) I hope you all are having a wonderful Friday :) huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Two things - yes, I did change my username. More on that in the author's note at the bottom. And, most importantly, one final warning: the rating does go up to M in this chapter.**

 **Chapter 16**

Christine and Erik rushed back to the penthouse, neither of them entirely sure what they were rushing towards - it was nighttime now, and the darkness allowed them to steal more glances than they would have otherwise in the taxi, playing a game of hide and seek with their gazes. When they arrived home, they quickly moved to the couch, Erik settling Christine down almost beneath his body and immediately descending his lips upon hers. This time, when she let out a moan, he did not pull away, but pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, pressing the full line of his body against her. He was almost on top of her now, his weight bearing down on her, and she opened her knees to let his body rest in between her legs. Their lips continued to move against each other until their bodies mimicked the rhythm, and Erik moaned, the feeling of Christine grinding against him causing him to harden almost painfully.

 _"Erik,"_ Christine gasped.

He pulled away from her, only to sweep her up in his arms again and carry her into her room.

He lay her down on the bed, his lips meeting hers once again as he hovered over her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him on top of her, unbuttoning his shirt once he settled between her knees again.

"Christine, what are you - "

She silenced him with another kiss, pulling his shirt off his arms.

"Christine, _wait_ \- " 

She paused this time, now wondering if this was what _he_ wanted. Shyly, she sat up, moving a few inches away from him as he shrugged his shirt off. "Are you sure this is what you want?" He asked, holding his shirt tightly in his fist, not seeming to care about wrinkling it.

She placed her arms around his neck. "I want _you,_ Erik. I choose you. Your home, your mind, your heart, your voice, your face...and your body," she whispered, and he gave a helpless noise as he descended on top of her once more. He moved his hands inside her shirt and began to fidget with the clasp of her bra, and she moved her arms behind her back, aiding him in removing it. She pulled her shirt off in the same motion, but the moment the cold air touched her chest, she became insecure, moving her arms around her breasts. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, pausing. 

She nodded her head. "I'm just...I've never done this," she admitted. She did not add that she had never even _kissed_ someone in her twenty two years before Erik. 

"Nor have I," he replied. "But...you've truly never been with anyone, Christine?" 

"Only you, Erik. Only you, and I only _want_ you," she asserted, placing her arms around him and pulling his chest against hers. He groaned, and she swallowed the noise, kissing him.

She put one hand on his mask, and he caught it, stilling her. "Christine, please...I am the first man you've been with, and you deserve someone handsome...please, pretend I am handsome," he begged.

She placed her fingers around the edge of his mask again, asking for permission. "You are," she attested, kissing his jaw. "You are so, _so_ handsome…" she whispered, slowly removing the mask. "You're so tall and alluring. Your eyes are like liquid gold and your cheekbones are so sharply elegant. Your hands are…" she trailed off, moaning as he placed one on her breast. _"Yes,"_ she whispered, and he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, eliciting another moan from her.

She moved her hand to his deformed side, caressing the mangled flesh gently as her other hand trailed down to the waist of his pants. She unbuttoned them, and he awkwardly pulled them down, kicking them off once they were below his knees. He was just in his drawers now, and she brought her hand back to the area below his navel, venturing deeper, dipping below the waistband. 

" _Christine,"_ he hissed. 

She silenced him with another deep kiss, laving her tongue over his lips as she ever so gently traced the firm line of his manhood with one finger, eventually rubbing her thumb across the tip. He shuddered, and she felt a touch of wetness. He was surprisingly sleek, silkiness over stiff hardness, and she moved her hand up and down slowly. He bit her lip, but she didn't mind the feeling as he devoured her desperately.

When she picked up her pace, he brought his hand down to capture her wrist, pulling her away.

"Too much," he panted. "I don't...I don't want to yet, not until we're...together."

She nodded. "Was that...okay? I want to make you feel good, Erik." 

He laughed, and the easy, effortless sound that was so rare from him made him even more attractive in that moment. "You ask if it was _okay_ when I could barely stand ten seconds of it without coming." 

She blushed, moving in to kiss him so he would shut his eyes and not notice the redness flaring in her cheeks.

She raked her fingers through his wig, tugging a bit too much accidentally removing it. She played it off as though it was intentional, throwing it across the room and moving her fingers across his scalp. He shivered, and she ran her foot across the back of his calf.

His left hand kneaded her breast as his right traveled down her body, stopping briefly at her other breast to rub his thumb over her nipple before trailing it down the side of her ribs, her waist, her hips, her thighs. He moved across her legs and up before his fingers were now teasing at the outside of her underwear. 

"Please," she whispered, and his finger slipped past the fabric to touch her. She moaned deeply as his finger found the bundle of nerves at the center of her, flittering across it lightly. He replaced his index finger with his thumb on the spot, now using his index finger to tease at her opening. She gave another noise of approval as he traced the outline of her before plunging one finger inside, moving in and out. 

"Oh, god, Erik," she gasped. 

"Is this alright?" He whispered in her ear, kissing the shell of it before moving his lips to her neck. 

She couldn't speak, could only nod her head as he moved his finger in and out. She gave a loud, deep moan, and he accidentally bit down on her neck in response, only increasing her pleasure. 

"Erik, it's - _it's so much,_ " she whispered frantically, hips involuntarily bucking against his hand. 

He kept the same pace, no longer increasing it. "Do you want me to stop?" He asked. 

"No, god, no, please, don't stop," she begged, and he began to speed up again, adding another finger. She was panting now, and he lifted his head from her neck to look in her frantic eyes. 

He used his free hand to cup her cheek, kissing her lips tenderly before pulling away to look deeply into her blue eyes. "You look so beautiful," he rasped, and at that, she gave a small scream, a rush of wetness coating his fingers as she pulsed around him. She trembled in his arms for a few moments before relaxing, her body warm. 

"Erik, that was incredible," she breathed, and he smiled against her throat before kissing it. 

He was far too pleased with himself for bringing her pleasure. He hadn't dared to dream that his touch could do anything but drive her away, but here they were. "There's more I'd like to do, if you'll let me…" he said softly. 

" _Yes,"_ she implored, and he removed his lips from her throat, moving down the bed as he pressed kisses to the soft curve of her stomach as he removed her underwear. 

"Erik?" she asked, raising her head to look down at him. He nibbled at her thighs, then looked up, his eyes meeting his as he took her in his mouth. 

"Oh, god," she cried out as his tongue moved through her folds, dipping inside her before retreating to circle around her pearl, then sucking on it. He alternated between the motions until he noticed her body tensing again, her breaths short and her moans coming with every movement. 

He moved back up, cradling her head with his hand as he caressed her cheek with the other, kissing her gently. The action was so tender that the soft warmth she felt radiating through her chest almost dominated the burning fire she felt in between her legs until his length slid up against her, her breath catching in her throat. 

" _Erik,"_ she whimpered. How many times had she gasped his name tonight? How many more times would she do it? His name became an endless plea on her lips, a prayer she was unable to stop reciting. 

He pulled away from her to look in her blue eyes again, those sparkling pools that he would shy away from if they were not so entrancing, so magnetic, that they pulled him in, drowning him. "Yes, my love?" 

His love. She moaned at the endearment, the same one he had used when he was too drunk to control his words. He called her "dear" when he was holding back, "love" when he was losing control...what sorts of things would he call her when he was buried inside her, all restraint abandoned, no space left between them? She could not wait another moment, but she had to. She had to wait long enough to speak the words she'd set out to speak hours ago when she had resolved to find him. 

She looked up into his golden eyes, tracing her thumb over his cheekbone. "I love you." 

He choked on a sob, his eyes now glistening with tears, and she wiped one away as it fell. When he kissed her, she tasted a mixture of salt from his tears and what must have been her own essence, all combined with the unique taste that was him, and it was intoxicating. She drank from him desperately, unable to get enough of him. His length prodded at her entrance again, and she wrapped both her legs around his waist. 

"I love you so, so much, my darling Christine," he whispered before slowly entering her. 

His length was large and slightly uncomfortable, and she winced for a moment, not from pain but from the odd feeling of being filled. He immediately froze, but she tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him in. He continued to push inside of her, and the further he went, the deeper she wanted him. Once he was fully seated within her, she wasted no time, beginning to grind against him desperately. 

He placed his hands firmly on her hips, holding her in place. "Christine, _shh,_ " he soothed, brushing a stray brown curl from her face, then kissing the spot where it had been. "There is no need to rush. Let me love you." 

She ceased her motions, letting him move slowly and deeply within her as he peppered kisses along her collarbone before sucking on her neck again. 

"Erik, please," she begged, and he began to move more passionately, though his pace was still gentle. He loved her with deep, tender motions, letting the base of his length brush against her center with every precise stroke. 

She was so tight around him that he could hardly stand it. He couldn't hold on much longer, and he breathed desperately in her ear. _"Christine."_

"Yes, Erik, please, _more,_ " she pleaded. 

He was now thrusting in and out, still going deep within her every single time. His body curled around her, his legs hitting the back of her thighs with each thrust. 

"Please, don't stop... _Erik,_ " she choked, and he slammed within her a few more times before finishing inside her. She nearly screamed his name at the fulfillment the sensation brought, the feeling of connection and closeness to this man inside her, this man that she loved, bringing her to a plane of existence she'd never known as she reached her peak.

In her body and soul, she felt euphorically satisfied and satiated now that this final bridge had been crossed between them. Nothing had ever felt so right. He stayed seated within her for several moments before rolling to his side, but she followed him, draping her leg across his waist and laying sideways against him. It was dark, but his eyes had adjusted to darkness long ago, and he could see her smiling contentedly, her cheeks still pink from pleasure. 

" _I love you, Erik,"_ she whispered blissfully, eyes half-lidded as she traced her fingers over the mangled flesh on his cheekbone. He could not hold back the tears this time, letting them come forth with a few gentle sobs. 

The sight of a man crying while naked within you should be pathetic, but Christine only loved him more for it, pulling him closer to her and kissing every inch of his face.

Christine woke the next morning wrapped in Erik's arms for the second time that week. This time, though, all their layers had been shed - literal and metaphorical. Their clothes were discarded on the floor of her bedroom, but all their defenses, previous issues of distrust and arguments had been shed at the door, no, all the way back in his lair beneath the opera house.

This time, as Erik slept, his expression was not only calm, but it almost seemed as though there was a faint smile on his bloated lips. When she wrapped her leg around his hip and her arm around his waist, pulling his chest against hers to hold him as close as possible, she felt his him grin against her shoulder and knew he was awake. He pressed a bloated lip to her neck, then her collarbone, then the top of her breast.

"Good morning, my angel," he whispered against her skin, and she tightened her grip on him.

"Is it very early?"

He hummed against her skin. "Yes, we came into bed quite early last night, so we did not sleep in very late. I suspect it's about six, but I am perfectly content to waste the day here…" He murmured, kissing her gently.

She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, and she heard a low rumble in his throat as he pinned her underneath him, his hands caressing the sides of her waist, her hips, her thighs. She allowed the exploration of her body, without windows, the room was still dark despite the hour of day, and she was not quite as shy as she initially had been the night before.

"You are exquisite, my dear," he whispered.

"How can you even see me?" She giggled.

"I've spent many years in darkness, Christine, and you...you are light."

At that, she allowed him to slip inside her once more, moving slowly and gently, making love to her in the quiet, tender way that he had tried to the previous night until her begging had propelled his place. Now he truly took his time, both of them reaching a slow, but still powerful completion after several long minutes of Erik worshiping her body with his.

They lay together for several moments after, her hand on his chest, feeling his racing heart underneath it. "Erik?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Your heart is beating so fast."

He blushed a bit, the unblemished side of his face nearly turning pink enough to match the deformed side. "I suppose I'm still in shock. I never thought I'd have this, Christine, especially not with you. I don't deserve this with you. I don't deserve this with anyone, but Christine, you...you are beauty and light and I _stole you away._ I nearly extinguished that light."

" _Shh,_ " she soothed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "All is forgiven. I've known for a long time that you regret what you did, and am I wrong in assuming that I have been here all this time not because you have kept me here, but because I have stayed?"

He went silent for a moment. "I left so many times, Christine...I left with the door unlocked so many times. I even told you to leave yesterday, gave you your phone and enough funds to leave and be on your own, and still, you stayed."

"I did."

"Would it be insulting to inquire whether or not you have lost your mind?"

"A little, but I can't blame you. I thought I was losing my mind at first," she admitted.

"What do you mean, 'at first?'"

"When I first realized I was developing feelings for you. But I think the spark was always there, from the moment I'd met you. When you...you know, _took me,"_ she began awkwardly, "...That hindered it from being able to properly develop. I was too angry and too horrified by your actions. But once I forgave you and no longer felt trapped, like you held something over me, once I felt like I was there by choice, not by imprisonment...it was able to start growing again, and I couldn't stop it."

He looked at her in awe, somehow still not believing what he was hearing, despite the way her unclothed figure was pressed against his. "I love you, Christine. I have always loved you, and I am so sorry for the way I went about it...I have been going mad for some time, but I will never allow insanity to guide my actions again, I swear. I will never hurt you," he proclaimed.

She was silent for a moment, brushing one of the few strands of thin, greying hair on his forehead. "I trust you," she said, tilting her chin up with confidence.

It was then that he began to cry again. She cried, too, setting free the build-up of so many emotions that had overwhelmed her these past two months, giving it all to him through her tears, through her kisses and caresses. She relaxed in his arms after some time, closing her eyes and drifting off.

She woke a few minutes later to find the bed empty, and immediately left the dark room in search of Erik, tying a dark blue silk robe he had purchased her around her waist. She found him in the kitchen frying two eggs, clothed again, though much more casually - he wore a white dress shirt with the top three buttons loose, and dark jeans. She'd never expected to see him in such an ensemble. He still had not put his wig or his mask back on. He looked so carefree.

"You're not wearing your mask," she pointed out, smiling.

"It is quite dark in your room and I did not want to turn on the lamp and wake you. Would you like me to go retrieve it now that -"

"No," she immediately interjected. "If I had my way, I'd never have you put that damn thing on again. I want to see you," she professed, moving to place her hands on his cheeks. She brought his head down to kiss him, his bloated lips ghosting across hers before pulling away.

"Do not lie, Christine. No one would _want_ to see this face."

"I'm not lying. Your face isn't perfect, Erik, I can't deny that. But I love it, and I love you. I love seeing your brown eyes light up to an almost golden color, I love the way your eyebrows furrow when you're looking at me like I'm crazy - you're doing it right now - I love your jaw, I love your lips…" She traced one finger over his bottom lip. "They're so soft, and encompassing…" she blushed as she realized she was rambling about his lips _in front of him_ and he immediately swallowed her words with a kiss. They savored the taste of each other for a few moments, arms wrapping about waists and lips gently gliding over each other before Erik finally broke away, noticing a smoky scent in the air.

"Our breakfast has burnt," he chuckled, and Christine simply shook her head at him.

Once they had finally managed to keep their hands off each other long enough for Erik to fry a new pair of eggs, they ate breakfast together, discussing plans for the future.

"We really must return to shaping your voice, Christine. The current season is halfway through, meaning auditions for the summer production will occur in just a few months."

"Erik, I can hardly sing normally now with technique and skill, I highly doubt I will be able to sing opera in time for the spring production."

"You doubt my abilities," he said with a smug smile. "With your natural talent, passion and drive, and my knowledge of music and singing, your voice will be ready by February at the latest."

"Where will we rehearse?" Christine asked before realizing this question brought on a series of others in her mind - how had she forgotten about every other aspect of her old life? She now wondered where she would live, if she would work...Erik seemed to notice her pensiveness, and allowed her a few moments before responding.

"A lot on your mind?" He finally asked.

"I just realized...I kind of completely forgot about my life before. Am I to return to it?"

"If that is what you wish. If not...I know that there are _implications_ with living together, even in the modern world, but you are more than welcome to stay with me, Christine. In fact, it might be best not to return to your job at the opera house and allow me to provide for you over these next few months so we can focus solely on your voice."

She gave a simple nod, pondering this. "You're probably right, working long hours and getting little rest isn't going to help my voice at all. Though, even if it weren't for that...I don't mind the implications of living together, Erik," she confessed, reaching across the small breakfast table to take Erik's long, graceful hand in hers. "Even if it seems sudden, I made my choice a long time ago. I love you. That implies being with you each night and each morning."

He gazed at her in wonderment, his golden eyes filled with warmth. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

"Well, too bad," she smiled, deciding against refuting the statement. She was tired of arguing with him, and hoped her commitment to him would convince him in time that he was worthy of love better than any argument could.

He gave another laugh at that, a bellowing one, and she felt warmth in her stomach in response. She would never grow tired of hearing him laugh or seeing him smile. 

"I must return to the opera house later today, Christine. After last night, I find the urge to compose is stronger than it has been in years."  
She blushed at his statement, the warmth in her stomach now burning at the realization that their activities continued to impassion him, inspiring him to compose something. She wondered if the piece would be a reflection of their actions, filled with ardor and ecstasy and… 

"Christine?" 

She snapped out of her thoughts, meeting his eyes once again. "Please do go then, Erik, I'll be okay here," she smiled. "I'm excited to hear what you compose...if you're willing to show me, of course." 

He rose from his chair, stepping around the table to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her jaw. "I'll show you tonight if you like," he said in her ear before running his hands down the length of her arms. She shivered, and unconsciously tilted her head, exposing her neck to his lips. He placed one final kiss there before pulling away.

"I'm going to get dressed and go, but please do relax while I am gone. I will return as soon as I am able."

"Be safe. Come back soon," she shouted across the apartment as he walked to his bathroom.

He left twenty minutes later, not before giving her one final kiss. She settled on the couch in the living room, a new book in hand. She was only five pages in when the door burst open.

"Erik?" she called.

Two pairs of footsteps shuffled from the doorway quickly to the living room. Looking up, she saw Mr. Khan, and the one man she never expected to see in Erik's home.

Raoul.

"Christine, my god, are you alright?" The blonde questioned frantically, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine...what on earth are you doing here?"

"Dear god, Christine, you're in nothing...nothing but a _robe_...did he hurt you? What has he done to you?"

She gulped. "Nothing...nothing that I didn't want, Raoul. But that's absolutely none of your business, and you shouldn't be here in his home when he has not invited you," she fumed.

"It's worse than I thought," Mr. Khan whispered. "He has her completely in a trance."

"Christine, you've been kidnapped, you know that, right?" Raoul asked.  
"Yes. Of course I know that. I _still_ don't know why you're here, though," Christine

snapped, growing impatient. 

The two men looked at each other, baffled. 

"We've come to rescue you, Christine. The Phantom...the Phantom took you," Raoul explained. 

"His name is Erik, and honestly, I really would've appreciated this two months ago, but I'm fine now. You don't have to 'rescue' me. There's multiple occasions I could've left, but...I'm happy here," she professed. 

"You don't know what you're saying, Christine," Raoul deterred. 

"Erik is a dangerous man," Nadir added. "I...I truly want to believe that he has finally found a companion, but it simply isn't possible considering what he did to you. I'm sorry, Christine, but this decision is one we must make for you," he announced as Raoul grabbed her hands. 

She yanked them away, then pushed him gently in the chest. "I'm _sick_ of people making decisions for me! Erik decided the only way to protect his identity was to bring me here against my will, and now you're deciding to take me from here against my will? I am happy here. Why can't you just take my word and leave?" 

"Christine, you're under a delusion - " 

"Don't tell me what's going on in my mind! I know damn well what I've been through, and yes, Erik did take me here against my will. But things are different now. He only took me here because he didn't trust me, and now, I trust him. He's gentle, and he's even kind…" 

Nadir scoffed. "Erik is not kind, Miss Daae." 

Her eyes pierced his. "Perhaps not to you, when you've made it your business to interrogate him constantly." 

"I have made it my _business,_ Miss Daae, to protect him from the law and guide him in the right direction so hopefully someday, I will no longer have to cover for him. Clearly, that day has not come. I am sorry, Miss Daae, but if you will not cooperate, we will have to try another method…" Nadir reached into his pocket, retrieving a familiar vial and needle. 

"Mr. Khan, please, no! Please, I want to be here, please…" Christine begged. _"Erik!"_ She called, hoping somehow he would hear her as she tried to escape Raoul's grasp. He was too strong, and he held her down as Nadir administered the serum. Moments later, she slipped into darkness once again.

 **A/N: For those who are wondering, yes, I did change my username! This wasn't prompted by anything, it was just a decision I made based on my own anxieties haha. In order to feel comfortable with posting this chapter, I wanted to change my username to something that wasn't totally tied to my blog, just because, I don't know, I'm shy and awkward and ahhhh. Just very anxious about posting it. I'm just really shy about this stuff. But hey, I wrote it, and I'm not leaving it saved on my laptop for the rest of my life lol. So here it is. *runs away***


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

When Christine woke, all she saw was brightness. Blinding white lights, foreign and uncomfortable. She wished to go back to sleep, to curl up against Erik's body in the darkness of her bedroom, but she was not in her bedroom…

A faint beeping tone in the background and the sensation of a needle in her arm indicated her location. She was in a hospital. 

"Erik…" she mumbled drowsily. 

"Rest, Christine," a voice answered, though it was not Erik's. She turned her head, the action seeming to require much physical strength, and found Raoul's blue eyes on her.

"Where is Erik? Is he...is he okay?" She asked. 

Raoul's brow furrowed, surprised that after Christine woke in an unfamiliar environment, her first question was not inquiring where she was or what had happened to her but where her kidnapper was. "We don't know," he answered honestly. "Nadir has been looking for him, but to no avail." 

"Are you going to have him arrested? I'll testify in his favor, Raoul. There's...nothing you can do," she attempted to sound intimidating, but her voice was weak. 

"If there was a case, Christine, the judges would find you unfit to testify due to your delusion." 

"I'm not delusional, Raoul," she protested. 

"You're in a mental hospital, Christine. They're going to help you with your trauma…" 

Trauma? What trauma? Yes, she'd been taken against her will. Yes, she'd suffered the first week, though it was mostly due to her own stubbornness...Erik had never been anything but gentle towards her, though, save for the one time he had shouted at her after she removed his mask. 

"You can't make me stay here," she croaked, her throat dry. 

"The doctors will release you once you've begun to show signs of recovery," he stated.

"When they believe you have accepted reality and coped with your trauma, you will be

free to go." 

"It's always my freedom, isn't it? Everyone is always making decisions about it, but I never expected this from you, Raoul." 

If he noticed the disappointment in her voice, it did not affect him. "I did what was best for you, Christine," he spoke before exiting the room.

Whatever drugs she was given to stay calm lured her into a dreamless sleep once again, as much as her mind protested. She would simply have to find a way out when she woke.

Christine was not able to leave the mental facility for another day. After much battling with doctors, she asserted her mental clarity, even adding that Raoul may have been jealous and simply wanted her away from Erik. She knew it was not true, Raoul was simply concerned, but it aided in her case, and she was finally set free. Raoul was not informed, as he had no legal right to the information, and she was relieved to walk out without worrying about him finding her. 

She had nothing on her person, her purse still at Erik's, and had to walk ten blocks to his apartment. She hurried up the steps, knocking on his door, hoping he would be there. She supposed he could be searching for her, but something in her heart seemed to feel his presence on the other side of the door, pulling her to him. 

The door never opened, and she turned the knob, finding it unlocked. She wondered if Nadir had returned and had been too careless to lock it himself. She stepped through, the air feeling stale, as though nothing and no one had moved inside for days. A familiar, stinging scent reached her nostrils as she stepped through the hallway to her bedroom, the scent of...alcohol? 

On the floor of her bedroom lay Erik, passed out once again, though this time, his chest was not moving. He was far too pale. 

"No," she choked. 

She fell to the ground, immediately lifting his limp body onto her lap, cradling his head in her arms. "Erik? Erik, if you can hear me, please!" She cried, trying to find his pulse. She eventually felt a very faint thudding in his wrist, but it was not promising. She needed to find him help quickly.

Should she call an ambulance? She knew Erik detested the thought of others handling him, but it might be the only way. 

"Erik, please wake up," she sobbed, reaching over his body to find her phone on her dresser. Next to it, she noticed a note, penned in script eerily similar to hers, though she knew it was not close enough. Still, it would have been enough to fool Erik...had Raoul written this?

 _ **Erik,**_

 _ **The gravity of the situation has finally hit me. I am no longer suffering under delusion caused by the trauma you have brought me. You kidnapped me. You stole my freedom, and I must take it back. I am sorry to hurt you, despite how much you hurt me by ruining my life. I hope the rest of your life is peaceful. Please do me the favor of ensuring that mine is by staying away from me.**_

 _ **\- C**_

Christine placed a hand over her mouth, muffling her sobs. Had Erik truly thought she had written this? She dialed emergency services with one hand, the other moving over his forehead. It was far too cold. 

"Erik, my angel, I am so sorry," she choked.

After several torturous hours, Erik finally awoke in the hospital. He had to have an exorbitant amount of fluids pumped into his body, but thankfully, he had turned the corner in the middle of the night. 

He shot up in the hospital bed, immediately aware of the fact that he was not in his home. 

"Shh, Erik, it's alright…" Christine placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down.

"Christine?" He rasped, his eyes frenzied. 

"I'm here. I love you, and I'm here." 

"Do not play games with me, Christine...if you lie again, it will kill me…" 

"I didn't write that letter, Erik, you have to believe me. Raoul and Mr. Khan came and took me away, citing that I was delusional and couldn't make the right decision for myself. Raoul must have forged the letter," she insisted. 

"Daroga…" he muttered, and the foreign title caused her brows to furrow, but she was too concerned about him to question its meaning. 

"Erik, you could've died," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. 

"Yes," he replied gravely. 

She could not think of the right words, could not think of any words, simply laying her head on his chest, gentle sobs escaping her. "I am so sorry," she whispered. 

"There is nothing to be sorry about, Christine. You may have not written that letter, but it was well deserved." 

She shot up, meeting his golden eyes, taking his hands in hers. "Don't say that, Erik. You did not deserve to believe that after telling you I loved you, after _giving myself_ to you, that I would leave you."

"I deserve for you to leave, Christine," he argued. 

"Why don't you let me decide what you deserve?" She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You deserve that," she said, pressing another to the deformed side of his face. "And that," she added. She kissed him once more on the lips. "And this. You deserve love, Erik, and I'm far too tired from being held in a god damn mental facility and then nearly finding the man I love dead to argue any further, so shut up." 

He gave a weak smile, holding her to him, running his fingers through her curls before he froze in realization. "You were in a mental facility?" 

"Why do you think I didn't come back to you? Nadir drugged me, probably with the same one you used on me, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital. They wouldn't release me until they'd thoroughly inspected me for injuries and psychologically evaluated me. I would've come sooner if I was able to." 

His mind was foggy now, various medications inserted into his arm via a drip and the general exhaustion after everything that had occurred catching up to him. "Stay with me," he begged, and she obliged, moving to lay parallel to him on the small hospital bed.

Erik was released the next afternoon, and they returned to the apartment together, hand-in-hand.

"Do you think we should leave the city or something?" Christine asked as they walked through the front door. They both immediately plopped down on the couch ungracefully, the turmoil of the past few days leaving them both weary. 

"Why would you ask that? You love the city, Christine." 

"I'm willing to leave it if it guarantees I'm never torn apart from you again. What if Raoul and Mr. Khan try to 'rescue' me again?" 

"I already spoke to Nadir while you were sleeping, Christine. He came to visit, and when he saw you asleep in the chair by my bed, he was understandably shocked. I explained everything to the best of my abilities, and he believed me. He apologized for everything he put you through. As for Raoul, you were never reported missing by Madame Giry, so he has no grounds for insisting that you were held against your will. 

"Why _did_ Madame Giry never report me missing?" 

"She knew I'd taken you, and despite her disapproval, she knew of your bold, outspoken nature, and understood how likely it was that you would expose me. After years of protecting me, she did not want to see me in jail. She asserted that if I did not release you once I felt I could trust you enough to not betray me, she would eventually file a report." 

"And Meg?" 

"She discouraged Meg from reporting you, though I am sure you will owe Meg an extensive explanation." 

Christine nodded in understanding. "It's not going to be fun going back. I'll have to think of a believable story," she groaned. 

"I am truly sorry you have to do all this, Christine. You should not have to lie to those you love. If I had known that bringing you into my life would cause you to have to cover for me, I never would have...if only I had been _thinking_ -" 

"I'll do anything to protect you, Erik, always know that. I love you. I don't ever want to see you hurt again," she vowed.

"We'll figure this out together, when you are ready. It is still the holidays, though, and I am sure that after all that has occurred, you would prefer to spend this time resting...unless, of course, you wanted to attend the New Year's Eve gala tomorrow night at the opera house."

Christine's eyes lit up at that. "I've always dreamed of attending a gala...wearing a long formal gown, getting free champagne," she giggled excitedly. He smiled at the dreamy look in her eyes, absentmindedly reaching a hand out to brush a curl from her face, but pulling away. She caught it in hers, placing it in her lap. "Would you even be able to go?" 

"No one knows that I am the Phantom, save for yourself, Nadir and Madame Giry. The theme is ' _masquerade'_ this year, meaning that my appearance will not raise suspicions. The only trouble we will encounter, as you previously mentioned, is coming up with a story for you to tell your friends...and there is also the chance that you will run into that _boy,_ " he grumbled. 

She squeezed his hand. "If it's a masquerade, maybe Raoul won't recognize me in the crowds. You probably don't know this, but I'm rather good at avoiding people," her lip curled. "As for Meg, it wouldn't be right to avoid her. So yes, we should come up with a story for her," Christine decided. 

"You're certain you're ready to face her?" 

"I'm ready to face anything, so long as it's with you. I want to enter this new year with you by my side, Erik. I want you in my life for as long as you want to stay in it." 

Erik brought her hand up to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. "That will not be a problem, my love." She softened at his word choice once again, her chest flooding with warmth. "I will always want you." 

She moved in to kiss him, placing her hands on his chest, fidgeting with the top button of his color, but she felt him freeze under her touch and pulled away. "Erik?" 

"I am sorry, my love, I am just...afraid to hurt you, after all that has happened. I think I need some time." 

She nodded her head, but her eyes betrayed her reaction as they filled with tears. "Take your time," she smiled sadly.

Erik took a few hours in his room to rest before descending down the staircase, as composed as he ever was. He was dressed in a suit once again, the white shirt clean and unwrinkled and the black jacket free of lint. His posture had returned to its typical stiffness, and the gracefulness in each calculated step he took had returned. He seemed _himself_ again, or rather, the version of himself he had curated over the years, the mask which he hid under. Christine was partially pleased to see him acting as he normally would, and saddened to see his walls had gone up once again. This time, he wore a flesh colored mask, and the sight of it was somewhat unsettling, the way the hard, ivory edges blended in with his real skin. 

"Christine? You have nothing to wear for the gala tomorrow. Would you like me to take you out?" 

She breathed a sigh of relief. He had dressed this way for the _public,_ not for her. There was still a chance he'd allow himself to be more comfortable around her now, after all they had been through. There was still a chance he could walk around with his collar unbuttoned, the hair of his wig ruffled, perhaps even his mask off. She would keep endeavouring to earn his trust until that day came. 

"I'd love to. Are you sure you have the energy? You _were_ just in the hospital." 

He waved a hand at her. "I have had plenty of time to rest, my dear, and I have certainly strained myself after enduring much worse in the past and am still alive to tell the tale." 

"Alright," she allowed, rising from the couch and setting her book on the side table. He offered her his arm, and she was happy to see him requesting her touch again, wrapping hers around it and finding his hand, entwining their fingers.

At most of the shops, Erik stayed far from the dressing room, allowing Christine her privacy. Truthfully, she would've liked to have him near, so she could show him some of the garments she'd picked, but she decided it would be nice to surprise him. That was, of course, assuming he would be pleased to see her body in something elegant, though he hadn't seemed to want her earlier. She knew this was simply due to him lacking the emotional energy and strength it required to relent control and give into intimacy once more after what they had been through these past two days, but there was a smaller, more juvenile part of her mind that taunted her, searching for curves in the wrong places as she looked disapprovingly at her reflection. Now that her own purse had been returned to her, she had her credit card back, and she decided there was something she could purchase for the future that would possibly please him. She'd never had such a thought before of buying a nightgown for someone _else's_ viewing pleasure, only seeing them as functional garments. Then again, she'd never had someone to share a bed with at night before until now, never had someone to _do things_ with until now. Sheepishly, she pulled the wine red silk nightgown over her head, scanning the mirror for answers. Something in her mind urged her to give it a chance and be brave, to own her femininity, and she purchased it at the counter furthest away from where he lounged in a chair before returning to him. 

"Did you find something? I would've gotten it for you," he said, eyeing the bag. 

She blushed. "No, it was...something else I wanted. Could we go to one more store? I was having trouble finding something that suited me." 

He chuckled, rising from his seat and taking her bag for her. "Christine, I am sure you looked marvelous in everything you tried on. You probably put that woman to shame," he said, gesturing to a nearby poster with a fashion model. 

"Now you're just trying to make me feel good. You're always getting on my case for 'lying' when I say you're handsome, but now _you're_ really pushing it." 

"I am not handsome, Christine. You are exquisite." 

She wrapped her arms around his middle, disregarding the fact that they were in public. "You are _very_ handsome, and I will gladly tell you more about my thoughts on that about it when we're not surrounded by people," she said, rising on her toes to kiss his unmasked cheek. He froze again, and her heart sank as she returned to the ground.

They were mostly silent for the rest of their shopping trip, Christine selecting a dress at the next store and Erik insisting upon purchasing it. The air surrounding them in the taxi on the way back felt stuffy, thick, full of unspoken words, weighing down on them. When they returned to the penthouse, Erik immediately retreated to his room, shutting the door.

She knew that after what had happened there would be problems. There was no doubt of that. While he now knew Raoul's letter was forged, that didn't erase the time that he spent believing it was real, didn't erase the scars it had inflicted on his heart, the walls he had so cautiously brought down being rebuilt with even stronger bricks. Christine wanted to break them down again, to pound her fists against his chest until the man she had finally unlocked, finally found deep within him, returned, but she knew he needed time. She knew that all the time she had spent trying to slowly convince him of her love had been stolen away from them, and it might take twice as long to convince him again. Unless...unless she could show him, somehow, if he let her.

She didn't want them to be apart at night. It would be the first time they slept in different rooms under the same roof since the night they had spent together before Raoul had taken her. Even when Erik was in the hospital, they had curled up against each other on the small, uncomfortable bed, allowing no space in between them as Erik shamefully buried his unmasked face in her chest, trembling in her arms. She felt if they distanced themselves from each other tonight, they may never come together again. Once she had changed into her nightgown, she modestly pulled a silk robe around it, descending up the stairs to knock on Erik's door. 

"Erik? Can I come in, please?" She was met with silence. Sighing, she knocked again.

"Erik, I know what happened was rough, and I know you need some time. If you _truly_ want to be alone, let me know now and I promise, I will let you be alone. But if you're only forcing yourself to be alone because you think it's what I need or what you deserve...please, don't force me to be away from you. I don't want to sleep without you. I slept without you too many nights when we were apart." She stood for a few moments before hearing the door unlock, and he guided her inside. He was now only wearing his slacks and his white dress shirt, a few buttons loose, and she tried not to eye his smooth, pale neck and collarbones too hungrily, knowing he did not like to be stared at. 

"So you don't really want to be alone, correct? Since you let me in," she surmised. 

He exhaled deeply. "I never want to be away from you, Christine. I want to hide from the world, but not from you. Never from you." He opened his arms, letting her come into his embrace, and she wrapped herself around him again, the feeling of him against her feeling like coming home after a long, tiresome trip. The air felt thick, though, and the warmth of his body against her overwhelmed her, feeling her skin burning up.

"It's a bit warm in here," she commented. 

"I get cold rather easily, but I can adjust the temperature if you like." 

"No, I just meant...do you mind if I take my robe off?" She muttered into his chest, her cheeks burning. She hadn't intended to let him see her in this garment tonight, didn't have any ulterior motive in the moment, but it truly was hot. He froze for a moment before nodding. 

Not wanting to overwhelm him, she turned off the lamp on his side table before removing it, and she could not see him gaping at her in the darkness, golden eyes darkening in hunger. 

"Christine," he rasped. 

"Yes?" She asked shyly. 

"You do not know what you're doing to me." 

She moved towards him in the darkness, blindly reaching for his chest. "I'm doing to you what this unbuttoned shirt does to me," she mumbled, tracing her finger over the smooth column of his throat. She felt a rumble deep within it before she was ungracefully pushed down onto the bed. 

"I cannot deny you any longer. I tried, Christine, I tried not to tarnish you…" he whispered, kissing her neck, sucking on her pulse point.

She gasped. "Tarnish me?" 

"I am hideous, Christine, and I have done hideous things." 

She squirmed under him, and he pulled away in horror, thinking that she did not want him. The moment she had room to move, she flipped him underneath her, placing her legs around his hips. 

"You are _beautiful,_ and you have loved me, which is the most beautiful thing one can do," she affirmed, taking his face in between her hands. He gave a faint whimper, and she pulled on the edge of his mask, tugging in permission. He nodded, and she removed it, kissing where it had been. "I can't see you, Erik, but I can feel you. I can feel your cheekbones under my fingers," she said, tracing his cheekbone to match her speech. "I can feel your heartbeat." She moved her hand onto his chest. "I can feel your body against mine, and I don't love you because of the way you look, Erik. I love you because of the way you feel, the way you make me feel," she attested, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You feel like _home,_ Erik. I'm home. I'm where I want to be, I'm where I belong, I'm where I feel safe. I'm where I feel _free,_ ironically enough." He gave a dark chuckle at that.

"Will you let me see you?" She whispered, moving one hand towards the lamp, kissing his neck and grinding against him to sweeten her request.

"Christine," he groaned. 

"I love you. I want to see the look on your face when I'm with you, please," she begged.

Finally, he nodded, turning the lamp on for her. "The wig stays on," he mumbled into her hair as she kissed his throat, and she giggled. When she lifted her head to meet his eyes once again, his traveled downward, past the depths of her nightgown. The moment his eyes landed on her chest, she felt herself being flipped underneath him again. "God, Christine," he moaned, kissing her shoulder as he hovered his fingers over the strap of her nightgown. She placed her hand atop his, sliding it down her arm, the strap coming down with it. He helped pull the nightgown off her body, finding her bare underneath. His mouth went dry, and he stammered, helplessly searching for words. He gave up after a moment, placing his mouth on her breast instead, finding the nipple and sucking. She moaned deeply, and he began to gently bite, swirling his tongue around the ridges.

"Erik, I love you," she gasped.

He hummed in response, not seeming to accept her words. "I love you," she said again, pushing his shoulders up so that he would face her. "Turn over, I want to do something for you," she whispered, her blue eyes dark and sultry. 

He looked at her in confusion but obliged, turning around to sit underneath her. She kissed his neck, his chest, trailing her lips downward until… 

" _Christine!"_ He cried as she engulfed her mouth around his member. She moved her hand underneath it, caressing him with her fingers and her mouth simultaneously. She was only able to suck for a few more moments before he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her off of him. "It's okay, Erik, I can keep going," she said, meeting his frantic, dark eyes. She ran her hands across his length again. "You can come, Erik, it's okay," she soothed, using her free hand to grab his, tightly gripping his fingers in a comforting gesture before placing her mouth around him once again. She bobbed her head up and down a few more times before he flooded within her, letting out the loudest moan she'd ever heard him give. She accepted it all, took all that he gave, elated that he'd let himself go. 

She then rose to place herself in his lap again, caressing his face, his eyes shut in bliss. His chest was still rising and falling at a rapid rate, and she skirted her lips along it as he came down from his high. "Was that okay?" She questioned as she placed her mouth around his nipple. 

"That was more than I ever...ever would have asked," he panted. 

"But did you like it?" Her voice was nervous, indicating her insecurity. 

"Christine, that was single handedly the second best experience of my life." 

"And the first?" 

He lifted her chin, his darkened eyes meeting hers as he stirred underneath her, hardening again. "When I was within you," he professed, and although there were many other vulgar ways of expressing what they had shared that could have caused desire to stir within her, this statement felt so profound, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her once again. She lifted her hips up, pressing her center against his, trying to allow him to slip inside her. He snaked a hand in between their bodies, stimulating her with his long digits as his lips found hers once more. He kept a faster, more frantic pace than he had the other times they had been together, unable to hold back his ardor. He had wasted too much time, she had lost too much time, and he could not bear to keep himself from her a moment longer. As soon as her breathing had quickened, panting above him, he removed his fingers, settling her upon his hips once again. 

"Are you certain you're ready?" He whispered against her neck. 

"I need you now," she whimpered, and he took his length in his hand, guiding himself in her depths once more. He was shocked to find her wet already. 

"Oh, god, I missed this," she moaned, grinding against him. She moved slowly at first, moving back and forth on him before lifting her body up and down. The new motion caused them both to gasp as she picked up the pace. 

"Christine, love, you feel exquisite." 

"Erik, please," she begged, unsure of what she was requesting, and he moved his hand down, finding the spot that brought her the most pleasure and swirling his finger around it, pressing and pinching. 

Her moans were becoming frequent now, unable to hold them back as she felt his mouth enclose around her nipple, his fingers on her flesh, his length deep within her. He began to thrust up, and it brought her to a shattering completion as she screamed his name, throwing her head back. He flipped her underneath him, thrusting desperately into her. "I love you so much, Christine," he choked one more time, and she looked in his eyes, full of adoration as he came inside her, flooding her with his warmth. She moaned deeply at the sensation, tightening her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper within her. She felt herself drifting off as a blissful feeling of fulfillment settled within her, and was only partially aware of Erik eventually removing himself from her and rolling to his side.

Sleepily, she draped one leg and one arm across his torso and chest, pulling herself to him as he dimmed the lamp on the bedside table. He hummed a familiar tune softly, tracing circles on her shoulder, and just as she was beginning to recognize the melody, sleep overtook her.

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much for the reviews on the last chapter :) I can't even begin to express how much it means to me to see that there's still people interested in this story. Huge thank you to madiamazing as per usual for encouraging me through all of my self doubt, and though she didn't edit the past two chapters because I am weird and shy and didn't want her to edit my smut and basically just wanted to post these chapters and never look back, huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative for editing every other chapter of this fic thus far and pushing me to keep going :) one chapter left!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Christine woke on the last day of the year with Erik still unclothed and unmasked behind her. The sight of him so vulnerable, so natural, so real next to her, all of his layers shed and walls once again broken down, nearly brought tears of joy, of pride, of _love_ to her eyes. This was the first time she was able to view him like this in the sunlight, the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom allowing the abundant sunshine to fill the room. She could see every dip and ridge of his deformity, every strand of hair on his scalp, every scar on his torso and even a single freckle on his shoulder. She kissed the spot, attempting to gently wake him. He shot up in alarm instead, immediately feeling for his mask on the bedside table.

 _"Shh, Erik, it's alright, you're with me,"_ she soothed, running her fingers up and down the tense, tight muscles of his arm.

"Christine?" he asked as he turned to face her, and she saw his pupils dilate in recognition of her, as though he had still been dreaming until he met her blue eyes with his amber ones.

She brought her hand down to grasp his, squeezing it gently. She still lay beside him, her head on the pillow, and he relaxed into a similar position, inching closer to her.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I...I am wonderful, Christine. Confused, shocked, but wonderful."

"What is there to be shocked about? We've done what we did last night before," she giggled.

"Christine, you must understand, we have been through so much in the past week. First, I was with you in a way I never expected to be...then, I lost you. Then, you returned to me and we spent last night together in a way that I thought we never would again," he whispered in astonishment.

Her eyes filled with sorrow, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. "I am so sorry, Erik, for all that you've been through. Not just this week. For everything that happened before I met you," she said.

"You hardly know of what I have done in my life, Christine. I am sure I deserve most of what has happened to me," he argued.

"The beginning of your suffering was in your childhood. No child deserves to be unloved by their mother, and especially not abused. You did not deserve that, Erik."

He was silent for a moment before placing his lips on hers, kissing her tenderly as though to distract from the present conversation. She obliged, too tired and too happy to argue, and allowed the exploration of his mouth on hers. When he placed a hand on the small of her back, pressing her flush against him, she gave a moan, and he was brought back to the present moment.

"Christine," he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Yes?"

"There is something we...must discuss."

"Alright."

"We did not...ah, we have not…been careful."

She took note of the way his eyes flickered down in between their bodies before sheepishly meeting her gaze once again, and her cheeks flared with heat. "Right," she mumbled. "Well, I'm...on medication. So, the past few times...should be okay. But in the future, it would probably be best to take all necessary precautions, at least for the foreseeable future," she declared.

He nodded his head stiffly, still tense from the awkward nature of their conversation. Once her words registered, his eyebrows furrowed. "Christine...when you say for the foreseeable future…"

She blushed again, nervously lacing her fingers through his. "I shouldn't have been so...forward thinking. I just don't think before I speak. I'm sorry, I don't want to intimidate you or scare you away…" She stared down at their interlocked hands, finding the sight of them far too fascinating, trying to distract herself from her embarrassment.

"Christine, you could never scare me away. I only...I only need clarification. You...you want to be with me...long term? Long enough that you might even consider…?"

She chose her words carefully, petrified that he would dart from the bed into the nearest room with a lock to exile himself in. Would she consider marriage? Absolutely. Children? Once she felt she'd fulfilled her career dreams, yes. But these were far too large concepts for Erik at the moment, and she would have to find more subtle ways to express them. She settled on a simple response, not elaborating further. Erik was an incredibly smart, analytical man. He could fill in the blanks.

"Yes," she replied.

He seemed to sputter in response, opening and closing his mouth several times before he rapidly descended his mouth upon her, settling his body on top of hers. They momentarily renewed their passion before Christine pulled away shyly. "Erik? Maybe we should...wait to do this again until we get the things we need. To be careful. Remember?"

He chuckled, pressing a final chaste kiss to her lips, tightening his embrace around her before pulling away once more. "You are quite the tease, Christine Daae," his voice rumbled, and she felt fluttering in her stomach. He rose from the bed and retrieved his clothing, sliding into it as elegantly as she'd expect him to, swiftly fastening each button and pulling each zipper with a grace she knew only he held.

The next thirty minutes were spent in comfortable silence, the only communication between them being light laughter and gentle kisses as they ate breakfast together. Christine was more than pleased to see Erik eating with her, even when they were on the best terms, he still had not shared every meal with her, and she worried deeply for his health. She did not notice him picking at his eggs and toast too much today, though, he happily consumed every bite. She was shocked to find his plate empty when she reached her hand across the table to find his.

"Do you still want to go to the gala tonight?" Erik inquired.

"I'd love to, if you're up for it. We still need to work on the backstory for Meg, though."

Erik hummed pensively. "This will be challenging. Meg knows you like no other, I'm assuming?"

"Pretty much. I think you've gotten to know me fairly well over the past two months, but Meg has had years to study my expressions and quirks...she notices everything. Any nervousness, any gaps in my story, she'll catch on immediately."

Erik pondered this for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "Would it be so absurd to tell her the truth?"

"She's very protective of me. I don't think she'd ever forgive you if she knew what happened," Christine admitted, frowning when she saw him stiffen in acknowledgement of this.

"I would not blame her, but...is that so terrible? It does not bother me, Christine. It is what I deserve, and I accept it." 

"I just worry she'll try to pull me away from you, and then I'll argue with her...I don't want to lose our friendship," Christine said.

"You want to lie, then?"

"If I have to. I was thinking I could make it seem like you rescued me…"

Erik laughed bitterly. "Do not mock me, Christine."

Christine frowned. "I'm not, Erik, I'm just trying to think of a story, alright?"

He exhaled in resignation. "Go on, then."

"Maybe I could say that I just...reached some sort of breaking point, and I was having a breakdown somewhere in the opera house or something, and you found me and took me somewhere where I could relax and let go of everything that was troubling me. Maybe a vacation that you'd only intended to last a few days, but ended up being...well, two months."

"You think that's believable?"

"Hardly, but it has some substance to it...Meg knows how easily overwhelmed I get, especially around the time of year when my father died. Things become too much, and I did often talk of wanting to escape or run away, especially during panic attacks."

"You suffer from panic attacks?"

"Only when I feel - " Christine began, stopping herself before she could say _"trapped."_ She knew it would pain him to hear he'd caused her to live out her worst fear. "When I feel as though I'm in a situation I can't control or change, like my father being dead."

This was enough for Erik to understand, though, and he grimaced in the heavy feeling of remorse that settled upon him.

"Please, Erik...it's all in the past. Let's focus on how we're moving forward. We kind of have a story now, and we're just going to hope it works out, okay? And then, after that...what comes next?"

"As we discussed before, I would be delighted if you'd stay with me here or even allow me to rent you your own apartment in this complex so that you are close to me, and we can focus completely on your lessons. In just three months I must bring your voice to its fullest potential, and I cannot do that if you cannot dedicate your time completely to music. Is that still agreeable?" He asked.

"More than agreeable," she smiled, tightening her grip on his hand.

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "In March, you will audition for the summer production. By the middle of the month, we should know whether or not you have secured the role, then rehearsals will begin. Then...then you, Christine Daae, will have your debut." His eyes sparkled, the exposed corner of his lip turning up in a smile.

"We can certainly hope for that," she breathed, her eyes teary as she envisioned this future with Erik. Performances every night, returning to this penthouse to sleep in his bed, waking with him and the view of New York City in front of her. She traced her fingers over his knuckles, thumbing the familiar shape of the ring he always wore on his left pinky. "What is the meaning of this ring, Erik?" She asked.

"It was given to me by Nadir, actually," he explained. "Black onyx. It's meant to give strength in times of turmoil and emotional distress, or so he says."

She smiled. "Well, I think it's certainly worked its magic...though I think most of that was already inside you."

"I am a weak man, Christine. I acted upon my urges with you. I acted upon paranoia and fear -"

"We all make mistakes. I have forgiven you. Black onyx also transforms negativity, you know. Acknowledge your remorse, accept it, and channel it into the commitment to being a better man, as I know you have been trying."

"What did I do to deserve you?" He whispered in astonishment, tears glistening in his amber eyes. He removed the ring from his finger, taking her hand in his. "May I?" He asked.

She nodded, confused as he slipped it onto the fourth finger of her right hand. "Perfect fit," he marveled. "I believe you could use this more than myself, for the strength and confidence you will need to work as hard as you must over these next few months. Keep it, not as a commitment to me, but as a commitment to music. Wear it and remember what is inside you, what I have always seen and what you will soon see yourself." He squeezed her hand before pulling his away to stroke the curve of her cheek. "Your voice is as strong as you are, Christine...clear and kind and beautiful, but strong and powerful as well. You hold all these things within you, and they will soon shine through your voice as much as they do your actions and your words. We simply must unlock it."

She marveled at the stone on her finger, almost wishing for a moment he'd placed it on her left hand. A thought arose in her mind, one that was so bold, so daring, she almost wondered if the stone truly had given her strength. She acted upon it hastily before the logical side of her could deny it, pulling the ring off her right fourth finger and sliding it onto her left one. His eyes widened. "I commit to the music, Erik, but I commit to you as well. If you'll allow me to, I want to wear this right here, so you can always see it, and you can always know that I choose you. You put this on my right hand, and I chose to move it to my left. You asked for my dedication to my career, and I chose to dedicate myself to you. Anywhere you go, I'll follow you, if you'll let me. You don't have to take me away. You don't even have to ask me. Just let me choose, and I will choose you."

He choked on a sob, rising from the table to kneel at her feet, taking her hands in his and peppering desperate kisses on them. "Oh, Christine," he cried. "My angel." She placed gentle fingers in his wig, combing through the hairs, hoping he could feel the soothing motion, and bent down to place a kiss on his forehead. He wrapped his arms around her middle and buried his face in her chest, and they remained like that until all their tears had been cried.

Christine and Erik never made it to the masquerade gala. They dressed in the finest attire only to remain inside his penthouse, choosing the intimacy and privacy his home allowed over the hustling crowds. Christine knew with her career, there would be many galas and many crowds in her future, and she chose to end her year alone with the man that had changed her life, for worse at first, then for better. They danced to an old record player he had in the living room until midnight, then fell asleep on the couch watching the first film they'd ever watched together again: Pride and Prejudice. They began the new year reflecting on all that had changed since the last time Elizabeth and Darcy were on the screen in front of them and imagining what their future together held.

Their future was not an easy one, of course. The beginning of the year was full of many exhausting days of lessons, Erik slipping back into the role of the teacher far too easily, frustrating Christine to no end. There were nights she'd sleep in her old room, too peeved at him for how strict he was during lessons and how loving he was the moment he stood from the piano bench. She couldn't stand how hot and cold he was, though he reassured her many times he was only harsh during lessons so that he could push her to reach her full potential.

The first month of the year was difficult for Christine because of Meg, too. Meg, of course, had been skeptical of Christine's story, and quickly grew frustrated over the way that her best friend returned after vanishing from nowhere and offered no clear explanation of what had happened, and barely even seemed to trust her. This caused a rift between them for the better part of a month, Meg coldly dismissing Christine in her attempts to apologize when she knew that no explanation would follow her apology. Eventually Meg came around, knowing that some things just cannot be explained, and telling Christine that although she did not understand why she could not tell her what happened, she loved and respected her too much to hold it against her and knew that if Christine did not want to tell her, it was likely for a good reason.

Christine never explained to Meg that Erik was the Phantom, and was careful introducing their relationship to her in the spring. Meg had noticed the ring many times, but Christine weakly described it as a symbol of her commitment to her career before finally breaking down and admitting all that she could about Erik. She told Meg of his past and his pain, and how he _had_ given her the ring as a gift to remind her of the strength within her as she pursued this new path, but she had moved it to her left hand to assert her commitment and love for him. Despite how strange Erik seemed to Meg, and how odd it was that Christine had never discussed their relationship to her, this story alone was enough to convince her of the love between the pair, and she was content knowing that Christine was happy. Madame Giry and Nadir Khan both felt similarly, apprehensive about approving of the relationship at first, but eventually surrendering at the realization of how happy the couple seemed.

By March, Christine _was_ happy, completely, undeniably happy. Her voice was now soaring, as well as her heart, each morning spent strengthening her voice and each night spent strengthening the bond between her and Erik. When the morning of auditions came, she found herself not feeling the slightest bit nervous, only warm and lighthearted from the feel of Erik's arms around her.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered the familiar greeting, one she had not tired of, would never tire of, as his lips pressed softly against hers. She smiled into the kiss, placing her hand on his cheek and pulling her to him.

"Are you ready for today?" He asked, though he was fairly certain he knew the answer. Christine had grown so confident, so sure of herself in these past few months, she had truly become the woman she was meant to be, and he was in constant awe of her. 

"I'm ready for anything, so long as I'm with you," she smiled, rising from the bed to dress in her clothes.

Once her hair and makeup was done, she slipped on her black ankle boots, preparing to walk out the door when Erik stood in front of it, blocking her.

"One more thing before you leave, darling," he smiled playfully. He was not wearing his mask, he rarely wore it around the house now, and she was delighted to see both sides of his lips turn up in a smile.

"Erik, I'm going to be late!" 

"Just one moment. I have a surprise I am certain you will like," he purred.

She raised one eyebrow in confusion as he pulled an envelope from his jacket. "Open it," he grinned, and the sight of his white teeth flashing was something she had only seen once or twice before. It took her breath away.

She found a letter inside - no, not a letter, a...contract?

"Erik?"

"This is your contract for the opera house, Christine. You will not be auditioning today because you have already secured a role."

"How? This makes no sense, Erik…"

"I may have pulled some strings. I know that you wanted to earn your first role, Christine, and believe me, you _have,_ just think of me as the casting agent. All of my personal bias aside as your...well, your… _lover,"_ he decided on the word awkwardly, "boyfriend" never seeming like the right word to describe himself. "I am viewing your voice solely from my position as your teacher, and you are more than qualified. It's not a lead, just a minor role to start you off...I promise you, Christine, I will not interfere with any of your opportunities from now on, you will achieve them all on your own...but I wanted to open this one door for you."

She contemplated this for a moment, unsure of how to react. She had wanted to do this on her own, but she supposed that for anyone in the industry, casting was a mixture of talent, luck, and knowing the right people, and Erik helping her overcome the difficult first step of acquiring her first role could potentially save her years of auditioning before she found the right opportunity to lead her to many more opportunities. She eventually jumped up on her feet in excitement, engulfing him in the tightest hug he'd ever felt, and she lost her footing, accidentally pulling him down to the ground with her.

"We've found ourselves in quite a position again, haven't we, my dear?" He teased, remembering the last time their limbs were entangled together on the ground so many months ago. "I still remember that day so clearly. I had flour in my wig for days," he chuckled.

"I remember it too," she smiled. "I was so stunned to have you so close to me, I hadn't realized how much I wanted you…I mean, wanted you _near me_ until that moment. I kept waiting for you to kiss me, but you didn't."

"Forgive me, darling. I did not want to frighten you. Shall I make up for it now?" He asked, his bloated lips stretching in a gentle smile, and she nodded, meeting them with hers. "I will never tire of these moments," he whispered after a few moments, pulling away.

She beamed at him, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone. "I still don't know much about opera, Erik, are you sure I'm ready?"

"You have been well taught, my love, and you know more than most beginners."

"I _have_ had an excellent teacher," she laughed.

"I have as well, you know," he professed, his eyes soft.

"What do you mean?"

"You've taught me about love, Christine, something I'd never received and never truly given. Like you with opera, there is still so much for me to learn, but what I've learned just in these past five months is more than I ever expected to learn in my lifetime."

Her eyes filled with tears of pride for the man before her, someone once so tortured, so misguided, now so devoted, giving and even kind. He still had days where he struggled with letting go of his demons, but the progress he had made put the character development of Mr. Darcy and all her other favorite literary figures to shame.

"I am so proud of you, Erik, and I'm so honored to have taught you about love - no, to have given you the love that you deserve. I'll be happy to keep teaching you as long you'll let me."

He hovered over her body, his knee sliding in between her thighs, brushing against her. "What is our next lesson then, darling?"

She grinned before pushing him up to sit across his lap. "Take me to your room and I'll show you." He gathered her up in his arms, opening the door to his room and carrying her through it. He left the door ajar, the curtains open, his mask off and his heart open as he gave himself to her, unlocked every piece of him and gave her the key. She gave herself to him in return, and all she could think of as he moved within her once more was how perfectly they fit together, how she had found her safety, her freedom, her happiness in the one place she thought she'd lost it.

She'd found her home, and he found his, and neither of them would be without a safe place again.

 **A/N:** It's finally finished. I finished a multi-chapter fic when I truly didn't think I could. I could ramble in this author's note about how much of a struggle this was, and how I constantly battled my own self doubt and insecurity throughout this entire process, but that hardly matters now, because I did it! I couldn't have done it without my friends though, so huge thank you to madiamazing and phantom-triumphant for their endless support and encouragement, a-partofthenarrative for editing the majority of these chapters (so sorry I posted this one before you could have the chance to edit, Lindsey! I just really wanted to get it out before the weekend was over), wheel-of-fish for a few very necessary pep talks, rienerose for amazing reviews, and to every single one of you for reading along and especially to those of you who left kind reviews. You have no idea how much it means to me.


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